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THE   PSYCHOLOGY 
OF    MAETERLINCK 

JS  SHOirN  IN  HIS  DRAMAS 


BY 


GRANVILLE  FORBES  STURGIS 

A.  B.,  A.  M.,  Ph.D.,  University  of  Dnner. 
LL.B.,  Columbia  University 


•T«.     ».b     fcV    :• 


ARTIetVeWTAn 


BOSTON:   RICHARD  G.  BADGER 

TORONTO :    THE    COPP    CLARK    CO.,  LIMITED 


Copyright,  1914,  by  Richard  G    Badger 
All  Right*  Reiarved 


Thb  Gk)RHAM  Prbbb,  Boston,  U.  S.  A. 


•  I  n  r  "■  :  A 


lO  MY  FKIENI)  AND  INSIRUCTOR. 

DANIEL  E.  PHILLIPS,   PH.D., 

HEAD  OF  THE  DEPAKIMLNT  OF 

PaVCHOI.OCiY  AND  EDI  lATION, 

INIVERSITY  OF  DENVER, 

I  AFFECriOXAIICLV  DEDICATE  1  HIS  WORK. 


"There  are  tzto  "^-ays  before  literaturt— upward 
into  ever-groiiiug^  subtlety,  with  Ferhaereu  with  Mal- 
uiriue,  with  Maeterlinck,  until  at  last,  it  may  be,  a 
utw  aj^reement  ainunj^  refined  and  studious  men  gives 
birth  to  a  new  passion,  and  what  seems  literature  be- 
comes religion;  or  downward,  taking  the  soul  with 
IIS  until  all  is  simplified  and  solidified  again." 

II'.  8.  Yeats,  The  Cutting  of  an  /I gate,  p.  59. 


PREFACE 


MAURICE  MAETERLINCK,  like  our 
English  G.  Bernard  Shaw,  has  been  his 
own  best  commentator.  Such  action 
forfends  critical  analysis  of  his  plays. 
I  le  interprets  their  meanings  and  the  purposes  of 
his  characters.  But  altho  he  himself,  and  some 
hardy  critics  have  discussed  his  claims  ns  a  Dra- 
matist, and  the  philosophical  doctrines  which  the 
Plays  and  Essays  present,  none  has  dealt  with  the 
plays  purely  from  a  psychological  standpoint. 

In  this  Essay,  I  have  been  careful  to  avoid  the 
personal  opinions  of  M.  Maeterlinck  or  his  wife, 
and  only  once  or  twice  have  referred  to  their  opinions 
of  the  characters.  Only  by  so  doing  could  I  hope 
to  bring  any  originality  to  my  subject.  The  reader 
will  also  be  surprised  to  find  that  philosophy  plays 
so  inconsiderable  a  part  in  my  discussion.  This  is 
mtentional.  Where  philosophy  creeps  in,  it  is  purely 
incidental  and  subservient  to  the  psychological. 

In  compiling  the  Brief  Biography,  I  have  resorted 
to  innumerable  sources  of  information,  and  have  en- 
deavored to  give  credit  to  each  Biographer  for  every 
statement.  As  I  have  not  h.^d  the  great  pleasure 
of  personally  meeting  M.  Maeterlinck  or  his  wife, 
the  Biography  is  not  authoritative.  It  is  inserted  as 
a  portion  of  this  work,  simply  because  one  needs  to 
know  something  of  M.  Maeterlinck,  the  man,  in  or- 
der to  comprehend  him  better  as  one  sees  his  person- 

5 


o  Preface 

ality  reflected  throughout  the  dramas. 

Doubtless,  iM.  Maeterlinck  did  not  write  these 
dramas  with  the  careful  psychological  analysis  which 
this  book  strives  to  make.  But  each  reader  of  a 
volume  is  permitted  to  enjoy  it  from  any  side  which 
best  pleases  himself,  for  to  afford  enjoyment-as 
well  as  education- is  the  purpose  of  all  writers,— at 
least  of  dramatic  writers.  Just  as  modern  investiga- 
tion has  demonstrated  the  possibility  of  making  phys- 
iological diagnosis  from  the  nature  of  dreams,  so  can 
one  read  much  of  an  author's  character  between  the 
Imes  of  his  writings.  I  do  not  mean  to  imply  that 
the  worst  or  the  best  as  separate  parts  are  attributa- 
ble to  the  author.  But  each  man  is  a  composite  per- 
sonality, and  the  particular  trend  which  he  has  in 
disposition,  or  character,  depends  upon  the  environ- 
ment, and,  to  a  much  lesser  extent,  the  education, 
which  modifies  the  hereditary  characteristics. 

The  Appendix  is  inserted  to  make  the  main  por- 
tion of  the  book  more  comprehensible  to  readers  who 
are  not  familiar  with  all  the  plays,  or  who  have 
partially  forgotten  the  plots,  and  the  exact  order  of 
events.  I  have  digested  these  plays  act  by  act  and 
scene  by  scene  so  that  one  can  readily  grasp  the 
method  of  development  of  character  as  it  proceeds. 
In  so  doing  I  have  sacrificed  much  of  the  smooth- 
ness and  beauty  which  a  simple  relation  of  plot  would 
present,  and.  to  a  certain  extent,  deprived  the  reader 
of  the  aesthetic  scenic  environment  which  is  a  large 
part  of  the  joy  of  Maeterlinck.  It  is  the  reader  with 
strongest  powers  of  visualization  who  receives  the 
niost  pleasure  from  reading  Maeterlinck's  Dramas. 
The  Drama,  which  is  a  stenographic  form  of  story- 


Preface  -j 

telling,  assumes  strong  visualization  on  the  part  of 
the  reader.  This  very  fact  frequently  makes  the 
physical  presentation  a  keen  disappointment,  for  it 
usually  is  not  in  accord  with  one's  own  preconceived 
ideas  of  environment,  and  interpretation  of  lines. 
Yet  this  very  reason  draws  one  to  repeated  presenta- 
tions of  the  same  Classic,  moved  by  curiosity  to  see 
how  some  other  person  will  objectively  visualize  the 
drama,  and  in  search  of  the  pleasurable  experience  of 
perchance  seeing  realized  one's  own  apperceptions. 

As  a  pure  matter  of  record  I  have  occasionally  giv- 
en the  place  of  first  presentation  of  such  of  the  plays 
as  have  been  publicly  acted,  and  have  sometimes 
iTientioned  the  name  of  the  principal  performers,  and 
occasionally  said  a  word  concerning  the  reception  giv- 
en the  play  by  the  dramatic  critics. 

In  preparing  my  work,  I  have  used  the  admirable 
translations  of  Mr.  Alfred  Sutro,  Mr.  Richard  Ho- 
vey,  Mr.  Alexander  Texeira  de  Mattos,  and  Mr. 
Bernard  Miall.  These  gentlemen  have  translated 
these  plays  for  the  authorized  versions  published  by 
Dodd,  Mead  &  Company,  New  York  City. 


Denver,  Colorado, 
July,  igi4. 


Granville  Forbes  Sturgis. 


CONTENTS 

MAURICE  MAETERLINCK i^ 

rjRMENEUTICAL  PSYCHOLOGY  OF 
THE  EMOTIONS 2^ 

Princess  Maleine   ... 

32 

Pelleas  and  Melisande -g 

The  Intruder   g 

The  Blind 

The  Seven  Princesses 

Home ^ 

64 

The  Blue  Bird ^ 

Aglavaine  and  Selysette gg 

Mary  Magdalene    g 

Monna  Fanna    

Sister  Beatrice    .... 

97 

Ardiane  and  Barbe  Bleue 107 

AESTHETICS  OF  THE  DRAMAS 1 1 1 

Joyzelle    

113 

Alladine  and  Palomides 120 

The  Blind 

124 

The  Death  of  Tintagiles 128 

RESUME  OF  THE  EMOTIONS 147 


Contents 

MAETERLINCK  AS  A  DRAMATIST...  157 

STORIES  OF  THE  DRAMAS- 

Princess  Maleine    j^- 

The  Blind j o^ 

The  Intruder  j  g  , 

The  Seven  Princesses jg^ 

Pelleas  and  Melisande igg 

Alladine  and  Palomides 104 

^^'"^   198 

The  Death  of  Tintagiles 201 

Aglavaine  and  Selysette 204 

Sister  Beatrice    ^  j  j 

Ardiane  and  Blue  Beard 21c 

Monna  Fanna    jig 

Joyzelle    ^22 

The  Blue  Bird 226 

Mary  Magdalene 218 

^"'^^-^    243 

^^tes    251 


MAURICE  MAETERLINCK 

A  Brief  Biography 

"Heureux  qui,  dans  ses  vers,  sail  d'une  voix  legere 
Passer  du  grave  au  doux,  du  plaisant  au  severe." 
Boileau,  L'Art  Poetique,  Chant. 


731812 


MAURICE  MAETERLINCK 

IT  seems  strange  that  France,  the  rejector  ot 
mysticism  and  ritualism,  and  the  adherent  of  the 
materialistic,  should  have  fostered  sc  great  a 
preacher  of  the  aesthetic  and  symbolic  as  M. 
Maurice  Maeterlinck.  Yet,  every  epoch  of  over- 
/ealousness  in  any  line  of  belief,  has  had  its  rever- 
sion, so  perhaps  our  wonder  is  ill-timed.  Be  that  as 
it  may,  it  is  certain  that  the  29th  of  August,  1862,  is 
a  date  of  great  moment  to  France  in  the  shaping  of 
her  beliefs,  for  then  it  was  that  Maurice  Maeter- 
linck first  saw  the  light  of  day  at  Ghent,  the  capital 
of  the  province  of  East  Flanders,  Belgium. 

He  received  his  early  education  at  the  hands  of 
the  Jesuit  Monks  of  the  College  of  St.  Barbe,  and  his 
work  has  been  influenced  by  their  kindly  teachings, 
altho,  up  to  the  writing  of  Sister  Beatrice,  his  plays 
have  been  pagan,  if  not  anti-Christian,  in  their 
teachings,  and  filled  with  the  gloom  of  the  grave, 
rather  than  the  sunshine  of  the  Resurrection  Morn. 
Later  he  continued  his  studies  with  intent  of  becom- 
ing a  Jurist.  But,  like  many  who  have  attained 
prominence  in  the  Literary  World,  he  turned  from 
the  reading  of  dry  tomes  to  the  production  of  liv- 
ing books,  books  which  have  thrilled  all  civilized 
countries,  for  they  speak  to  the  hearts  of  men  as 
few  books  ever  speak. 

All  his  writings  show  the  influence  of  Mallarme 
and  Aljjert  Rimbaud.  His  plays  arc  redolent  of  the 
simplicity  of  speech  with  its  strange,  wearisome,  use- 

IS 


i6 


The  Psychology  of  Maeterlinck 


less  reiterations  of  words  and  phrases,  which  are 
so  strangely  characteristic  of  such  provincial  cities 
as  Bruges  and  Ghent,  altho  quite  unnoticeable  in  the 
conversation  of  the  sophisticated  persons  who  claim 
Brussels  or  Antwerp  as  home.  His  work  is  tinged 
with  the  influence  of  Plato,  Plotinus,  Jacob  Boehme, 
Kmerson.  and  Carlyle,  altho,  to  quote  a  certain 
French  critic,  "he  is  more  of  an  idealistic  poet  than 
a  philosopher."  He  certainly  has  a  wonderful  pow- 
er for  couching  phrases  in  the  most  graceful,  the  most 
vividly  beautiful  words,  which  charm  whilst  the  mat- 
ter itself  may  be  quite  common  place.  What  book  is 
more  instructive,  yet  more  fascinatingly  exquisite  in 
its  composition  and  delicate  colorings  than  The  Life 
of  the  Bee?  It  is  a  sermon  on  psychology,  and  as 
such  is  used  in  many  a  University.  It  shows  a  man 
of  careful  observing  powers  and  of  painstaking  ac- 
curacy of  observation  and  record. 

He  was  twenty-four  when  he  first  visited  Paris 
and  there  met  several  literary  craftsmen  who  turned 
his  thoughts   from  further  pursuit  of  Law  to  the 
calling  for  which  Nature  had  intended  him.     About 
a  year  later,  after  his  return  to  Ghent,  he  brought 
forth    his    poems,   Serres    Chattdes,    (1889).     His 
first  play  came  in  1890,  La  Princesse  Male'tne,  quite 
unfitted   for   acting,   but  which   so  pleased  Octave 
Mirbeau  that  he  termed  him  "the  Belgian  Shakes- 
peare."    "M.  Maurice  Maeterlinck  nous  a  donne 
I'oeuvre  la  plus  genialc  de  ce  temps,  et  la  plus  extra- 
ordinaire et  la  plus  naive  aussi,   comparable  et— 
oserai— je  le  dire?— superieure  en  beaute  a  ce  qu'il  y  a 
de  plus  beau  dans  Shakespeare     .     .     .     plus  tra- 
gique  que  Macbeth,  plus  extraordinaire  en  pensee 


Maurice  Maeterlinck  17 

que  Hamlet."  While  some  may  doubt  his  right  to 
that  title,  the  careful  reader  will  admit  that  there  is 
a  striking  resemblance  in  the  methods  employed,  and 
even  in  the  style  of  beginning  his  plays.  Compare 
the  opening  scene  of  La  Princesse  Mnleinc  and  that 
of  Hamlet.  The  likeness  is  startling.  But  I  can't 
agree  with  Mirbeau  in  his  claim  that  Maetelinck  is 
"superior  in  beauty  to  what  is  most  beautiful  in 
Shakespeare."  Yet,  if  I  had  only  the  French  ver- 
sions and  perversions  of  the  Bard  of  Avon  to  com- 
pare with  the  perfect  French  of  Maeterlinck,  it  is 
possible  that  I,  too,  might  agree  to  such  a  sweeping 
statement. 

In  the  same  year  appeared  the  one  act  plays.    The 
Blind  and  The  Intruder,  two  of  the  most  startlingly 
realistic  plays  of  modern  times,  yet  couched  in  such 
beautiful   terms,   filled  with  such  aestheticism,   pi 
tinged  with  such  deep  philosophy  that  one  is  fin 
with  awe  at  the  brain  capable  of  their  conception. 
Then  followed  The  Seven  Princesses  in  1891,  with 
a  setting  such  as  he  may  have  gazed  upon  from  his 
windows  at  Ghent, -leaden  sky,  green  marshes  with 
grey  canals  like  molten  lead,  a  landscape  conducive 
of  morbidness  and  thoughts  of  death  and  the  grave; 
Pellcas  and  Melisande,  1892,  the  tale  of  people  who 
have  grown  up  preserving  the  simple,  innocent  pas- 
sions    of     childhood;     Alladine     and     Palomides 
Home  and  The  Death  of  Tintagiles,  all  of  the  year 
1894;    then  the  triangle  play,  Aglavaine  and  Sely- 
sette,  1896;   his  volume  of  Essays,  Treasure  of  the 
Humble  in  1897,  and  the  volume  Wisdom  and  Des- 
tiny,   1898.     Sister  Beatrice,  and  Ardiane  and  Blue 
Beard  appeared  in   1901.     Nineteen  hundred  and 


i8 


The  Psychology  of  Maeterlinck 


w 


i 


two  gave  us  that  strange  play,  Monna  Fanna,  lai 
in  a  mediaeval  setting,  but  with  a  very  twentieth  cei 
tury  solution,  one  of  his  most  actable  of  plays,  an 
more  nearly  fulfilling  the  modem  conditions  of  xY 
stage  than  do  most  of  his  former  plays.  This  pla 
was  not  successful  in  Paris,  but  its  failure  was  prol 
ably  due  to  the  fact  that  it  was  not  accepted  for  pn 
sentation  by  the  larger  theatres,  and  finally  saw  th 
footlights  at  a  very  obscure  theatre  near  the  Boul( 
vard  St.  Martin,  and  was  staged  with  such  cheaj 
shabby  scenery,  and  such  make-shifts  of  costume  a 
to  be  swamped.  Yet  the  same  Paris  had  raved  ove 
The  Blind,  and  The  Intruder,  when  these  were  show 
by  Anioine  at  his  Naturalistic  Theatre  Libre.  Mot 
na  Fanna  did  not  meet  the  requirements  of  the  Enj 
lish  Censor,  and  so  was  rejected  when  offered  to  th 
London  stage. 

Joyzelle,  a  play  which  some  one  has  described  a 
"a  story  showing  how  true  love  will  survive  all  tests 
tragic  in  character,  yet  with  a  happy  ending,"  cam 
in  1903,  and  marks  a  return  to  Maeterlinck's  "earlie 
idyllic  and  symbolistic  manner." 

But  his  crowning  master-piece  (chef-d'oeuvre 
was  reserved  until  1908,  The  Blue  Bird.  It  is  ; 
remarkable  Fairy  Tale,  easily  understood  by  th 
children  in  the  audience,  yet  with  so  much  mysticisn 
and  philosophy  beneath  its  gentle  surface,  that  om 
could  write  volumes  illuminating  and  discussing  it 
teachings.  It  is  an  inspiration  to  everyone  wh( 
reads  it,  and  each  re-reading  discloses  unseen  beau 
tics  of  language  and  thought.  Our  own  English 
speaking  Barrie  gave  us  something  very  similar  ii 
Peter  Pan.     In  his  play  Maeterlinck  has  cxpandet 


tna,  laid 
ieth  cen- 
ays,  and 
s  of  the 
his  play 
as  prob- 
for  pre- 
saw  the 
e  Boule- 
1  cheap, 
tume  as 
'^ed  over 
e  shown 
.  Mon- 
he  Eng-  | 
d  to  the 

ribcd  as 
ill  tests, 
,"  came 
"earlier 

?cuvre) 

It  is  a 

by  the 
ysticism 
hat  one 
sing  its 
le  who 
n  beau- 
Inglhh-  \ 
nilar  in  J 
panded 


Maurice  Maeterlnck  |q 

and  illuminated  the  old  Latin  nscription  which  is 
engraved  m  the  stone  over  the  entrance  to  his  subur- 
ban  home  at  Passy,  and  which  reads  like  this:— 

"Whoever   turns   his  outer  sense 

To  see  his  soul  aright 
He   hears  when   no  one  speaks   to   him, 

Walks  seeing  through   the  night." 

The  same  ideas  and  philosophies  are  -evealed  in 
his  essays,  Life  of  the  Bee,  (1901),  The  Buried 
lemple  (1902),  The  Double  Garden  (1904),  his 
wonderful  essay,  the  companion  of  The  Life  of  the 
Bee,  The  Intelli^^ence  of  the  Flowers  (1906).  and 
his  much-discussed  Death  (1911), 

His  play  ba-  on  the  New  Testament  Character, 
Mary  Majrdalen  was  produced  in  1 9 10.  It  remark- 
ably reflects  Biblical  time.,  altho  it  may  oHend  one's 
preconceived  Christian  notions  concerning  the  his- 
torical characters  involved,  and  in  some  ways  is  dis- 
tasteful, not  to  say  sacrilegious,  to  those  of  us  who 
are  of  Puritan  ancestry. 

Of  the  personal  appearance  of  the  man  himself, 
this  can  be  said, -he  is  rather  chubby,  with  blue  eyes 
and  hair  turning  grey,  his  cheeks  a  rosy  pink,  his 
personality  suggestive  of  the  Irish  rather  than  the 
French.  He  has  the  soul  of  the  poet,  with  its  strange 
alternation  of  personality,  today  pensive,  sad,  mel- 
ancholy, given  to  deep  reflection,  and  much  philo- 
'  ophic  speculation.  "Temperament  is  the  source  of 
many  of  the  most  striking  mental  differences  between 
individuals  and  peoples."  Maeterlinck  comes  by 
his  temperament  naturally,  for  the  line  from  which 


20 


The  Psychology  of  Maeterlinck 


he  descends,  has  long  been  famed  for  love  of  the 
mystical  and  the  preternatural.  On  other  days  Mae- 
terlinck is  filled  with  the  sheer  "joy  of  living,"  as 
Sudermann  calls  it. 

His  wife,  Georgette  Le  Blanc,  whom  he  calls  "his 
other  self,"  is  in  harmony  with  her  famous  husband, 
and  tunes  her  temperament  to  his,  now  sitting  by 
the  hour  at  his  side,  silently  sewing,  demonstrating 
the  firmness  of  their  friendship  by  the  fact  that  they 
can  enjoy  each  other's  company  in  silence,  or  again 
stewing  over  the  stove  in  the  kitchen  of  the  ancient 
Abbey  of  St.  Wandrille  in  Normandy,  their  summer 
home.  The  next  day  may  find  them  indulging  in  a 
Bacchanalian  revelry,  much  to  the  astonishment  of 
their  simple  peasant  neighbors;  or,  perchance,  pre- 
senting Maeterlinck's  own  translation  of  Shakes- 
peare's Macbeth  (as  was  done  in  1909)  with  Mme. 
Maeterlinck  as  the  heroine,  and  the  play  staged  in 
various  portions  of  the  Abbey  and  estate,  the  exclu- 
sive audience  of  fifty,  composed  of  some  of  the 
greatest  geniuses  of  I>ance,  moving  about  with  the 
players  as  they  changed  from  place  to  place. 

Maeterlinck  is  a  normal  man,  filled  with  the  ex- 
uberance of  life  and  health,  fond  of  skating,  bi- 
cycling, motoring,  tending  his  bees,  delving  in  his 
garden  or  pruning  in  his  orchard. 

Madame  Maeterlinck  was  a  prominent  lyric  so- 
prano at  the  Opera  Comique  in  Paris,  where  she  suc- 
ceeded Mme.  Emma  Calve  in  Massenet's  opera, 
Sciphn.  She  very  naturally  bears  the  French  form, 
(ieorgette  Le  Blanc,  of  her  Italian  father's  Vene- 
tian name,  Bianconi,  for  she  herself  was  born  in 
France.     It  is  said  that  M.  Maeterlinck  was  drawn 


Maurice  Maeterlinck  21 

to  the  pretty  singer  with  the  eyes  of  mysterious  col- 
oring, now  grey,  now  blue,  and  with  depths  accentu- 
ated by  skilfully  shaded  eyelashes,  because  she  so 
intensely  admired  his  own  translation  of  the  Essays 
of  Emerson.     She  is  a  mystic,  "a  student  of  Vedanta 
I  h.losophy  and  the  Science  of  Yoga,  an  occultist  and 
a  crystal  gazer."  and  something  of  a  humorist,  for 
she   has   composed   an    admirable   Cade   fnr  If'ivc^ 
uhich  would  be  of  quite  some  help  in  solving  the 
reasons  for  domestic  infelicity.      It  will  be  of  inter- 
est to  add  that  her  sister  is  the  wife  of  Maurice  I  e 
Blanc,   the  author  of  Arscm-  Lupm,  which  was  so 
'.videly  read  as  a  novel,  and  much  enjoyed  as  a  play 
m  the  United  States  in  1909. 

Claude  Debussy  set  Pcllcas  and  McUsande  to  mu- 
sic and  It  was  produced  at  the  Opera  Comique  in 
1902  with  Mme.  Maeterlinck  in  the  title  r61e.  But 
the  famous  author  quarreled  with  the  director,  M. 
Carr,  and  then  it  was  that  his  wife  withdrew  from 
the  Company,  and  became  a  dramatic  actress,  ap- 
pearing the  same  year  in  Germany  and  Austria  in 
Moiina  I'amu,,  which  her  husband  wrote  especially 
for  her  debut  as  an  actress.     JSyzelle  followed. 

Prior  to  his  marriage  it  has  been  said  (hat  Mae- 
terlmck  "was  an  apostle  of  triumph  of  Death  over 
Eife.  but  after  his  marriage  he  became  the  apostK- 
of  Joy  and  Eove."  Certainly  the  advent  of  Mmr 
Maeterlinck  into  his  life  has  changed  his  views  and 
brightened  his  literary  productions.  To  the  poetir 
temperament,  love  of  a  pure  woman  always  seems 
essential  lor  inspiration  to  the  best  work. 


HERMENEUTICAL  PSYCHOLOGY 
OF  THE  EMOTIONS 

''Imagine  that  you  are  listening  to  a  drama.  You 
feel  an  increased  sense  of  reality.  Through  the  in- 
^^metation  of  the  drama  you  feel  life  more  in- 
tensely.  Jhe  same  is  true  when  you  listen  to  uood 
music.    Philosophy  ought  to  do  the  same.    It  should 

7alU''"  ^''^  ""'   '"'"'''''''^  ''"''  ''f  ''^l'fy>   of  vi- 

Henri  Bergson's  Ideal  for  Philosophy. 


i  HERMENEUTICAL  PSYCHOLOGY  OF  THE 

^  EMOTIONS 

ALTHO   Maurice   Maeterlinck  has   been 
termed  "the  Belgian  Shakespeare,"  there 
•s  a  very  striking  difference  between  the 
methods   of   presentation    of   subject   by 
these  authors.     With  Shakespeare  it  is  always  the 
objective  wh.ch  interests  and  holds  the  spectator- 
w.th  Maeterlinck  it  is  the  subjectives  which  gripe! 
Probably  the  reason  that  so  many  disputes   have 
arisen  as  to  Maeterlinck's  value  and  claims  as  a 
genius  can  be  attributed  to  this  very  fact.    One  is  so 
astonished  by  the  absence  of  action,  as  that  term  is 
understood  in  common  parlance,  that  he  hastily  re- 
fuses to  admit  his  claims  as  a  Dramatist.     It  is  true 
one  may  get  a  certain  pleasure  from  the  perception 
or  contemplation  of  an  object  without  feeling  any 
admiration,"   as  William   McDougall  has  so  well 
phrased  it. 

Let  us  consider  for  an  instant  the  Tent  Scene  in 
Richard  the  Third,  where  the  eve  before  battle  Rich- 
ard  has  that  terrible  nightmare  in  which  the  subcon- 
scious, takmg  advantage  of  the  absence  of  the  per- 
sonality, as  is  the  case  in  natural  sleep,  runs  riot 
through  the  wearied  brain,  and  presents  all  the  crimes 
which  Richard  has  committed  and  which  lay  heavy 
upon  his  guilty  conscience.  Says  M.  Henri  Berg- 
son,  "Every  feeling,  however  simple  it  may  be,  con- 
tains virtually  within  it  the  whole  past  and  present 
of  the  being  experiencing  it."     A  fine  actor  can  make 

25 


26 


The  Psychology  of  Maeterlinck 


the  psychological  chills  play  along  the  marrow  of 
our  spinal  column  so  that  the  scene  is  almost  unen- 
durable, and  its  dreadful  impressions  of  blood  will 
haunt  us  in  our  waking  and  sleeping  hours.  But 
even  a  less  capable  actor  will  be  able  to  make  a  won- 
derful impression.  The  strength  of  tho  scene  lies 
in  its  words,  and  the  physical  presentment  of  the  un- 
canny apparitions,  not  in  the  peculiar  inner  tempera- 
ment of  the  actor  himself. 

The  contrary  is  true  of  Maeterlinck.  Think  of 
the  final  scene  in  The  Death  of  Tintagiles.  There 
we  see  no  apparitions,  but  they  are  ever  present,  and 
the  very  atmosphere  is  surcharged  with  horror.  They 
are  more  real  than  any  "air-drawn  daggers"  such  as 
Shakespeare  presents  in  Macbeth.  Shakespeare 
shows  us  the  Ghost  of  Banquo,  whereas,  had  Mae- 
terlinck been  writing  the  scene,  the  same  effect  with 
even  greater  thrills  would  have  been  realized  with- 
out any  banal  attempt  at  the  embodiment  of  the  hor- 
rid figure  of  charnel  death.  But,  as  Maeterlinck 
himself  has  said  in  Monna  Vanna,  "Each  man  has 
his  destiny.  Some  follow  an  idea,  others  a  desire." 
The  atmosphere  of  Maeterlinck's  plays  is  always 
charged  with  fear,  death,  mystery,  disaster,  and  of 
these  intangible  factors  Maeterlinck  makes  aesthetic 
material.  There  is  always  the  sense  of  remoteness 
in  his  plays.  We  look  on  as  if  in  a  dream.  Indeed, 
in  some  presentations  a  black  veil  of  gauze  has  been 
placed  between  the  spectators  and  the  players.  Mae- 
terlinck's ability  to  induce  this  psychological  frame  of 
mind  whilst  we  are  witnessing  the  unfolding  of  his 
dramas,  makes  us  accept  without  cavil  what  we  may 
later  dispute  when  in  our  waking  ^consciousness,  for 


1 

m 


I 


Hermeneutical  Psychology  of  the  Emotions  i-j 

"a  consciousness  in  which  change  and  variety  is  most 
evident  is  a  dreaming  consciousness." 

Shakespeare  and  the  modern  dramatists  at  large 
always  present  their  subjects  in  the  concrete,  and  this 
form  is  the  better  from  a  commercial  view-point,  be- 
cause, as  Gordon  Craig  has  claimed  at  much  length 
m  his  On  the  Theatre  Essays,  the  modern  actor  as  a 
rule  is  not  endowed  with  very  great  mentality,  and 
has  to  rely  upon  the  symbolic  gestures  with  which 
years  of  custom  have  made  us  all  familiar,  in  order 
to  interpret  the  emotional  moods  of  the  characters. 
"Every  emotion,  no  matter  how  complex  it  may  be, 
has  its  characteristic  conjunction  of  motor  tendencies,' 
which  together  give  rise  to  the  characteristic  atti- 
tudes and  expressions  of  the  emotion.     How  true  this 
is  we  may  realize  by  considering  how  successfully  a 
skillful  actor  can  portray  even  the  most  complex 
emotions."     Mrs.  Fiske  and  Mme.  Nazimova,  the 
Russian,  for  example,  illustrate  the  difference  in  pre- 
sentation which  I  am  claiming.     These  two  ladies 
belong  to  the  class  which  critics  have  called  "intel- 
lectual actresses."     They  appeal  to  the  intellect  al- 
ways.   A  pause  in  their  hands  may  be  freighted  with 
vast  import  and  means  far  more  than  countless  words 
spoken  by  less  capable  players. 

Maeterlinck  is  the  dramatist  of  personality, 
Shakespeare  of  character.  The  one  writes  of  mental 
states,  the  other  of  physical.  With  Maeterlinck  we 
feel  gaunt  fear  as  he  stalks  across  the  boards  in  the 
background;  with  Shakespeare  we  see  him  objec- 
tively as  projected  in  the  fleshly  embodiment  of  some 
of  the  principal  charcters.  The  one  writes  as  it  were 
of  an  emotion,  the  other  of  an  instinct.     The  differ- 


28 


The  Psychology  of  Maeterlinck 


ence  between  these  states  is  well  defined  by  Mr. 
James, -"An  emotion  is  a  tendency  to  feel,  and  an 
mstinct  is  a  tendency  to  act  characteristically  when 
m  the  presence  of  a  certain  object  in  the  environ- 
ment." 

It  would  seem  that  this  type  of  fictional  writing 
came  in  with  George  Eliot,  and  that  she  was  the 
first  of  our  English  novelists  to  write  of  moods,  to 
describe  the  progress  of  thought,  to  develop  mental 
characteristics,  and  to  dissect  human  souls.     Other 
writers  described  the  outward  peculiarities,  the  sym- 
bols   which    pointed    to    mental    eccentricities,    but 
Cieorge  Eliot  went  to  the  basis  of  the  whole  matter, 
and  dealt  with  the  brain  itself  from  which  spring  our 
strongest  emotions.     It  is  a  conscious  psychological 
analysis  of  the  mind  which  George  Eliot  and  the 
modern  Continental  writers  make,  as  opposed  to  the 
unconscious   analysis  of  the  earliest  poets  such  as 
Homer  and  Virgil.     Sophocles  seems  to  press  toward 
a  psychological  analysis  in  his  direct  and  logical  con- 
clusions, but  he  ranks  as  a  Philosopher  rather  than  a 
Dramatist. 

There  are  two  well-defined  sources  of  emotion,— 
the  one  from  within,  the  other  from  without;  the 
one  arising  directly  from  a  mental  disturbance,  the 
other  from  some  physical  cause.  We  may  accept  or 
reject  the  James-Lange  Theory  as  to  the  cause  of 
emotion,  but  it  remains  certain  that  an  emotion  from 
whichever  source  it  springs,  upsets  the  functioning  of 
both  brain  and  body,  and  creates  a  chemical  change. 
Not  to  go  at  length  into  a  discussion,  such  change 
may  continue  indefinitely  in  the  system  causing  vari- 
ous ills,  physical  and  mental.  Empiricism  leads  many 


Hermetieutical  Psychology  of  the  Emotions  29 

to  contend  that  the  emotion  which  springs  from  the 
subjective-self  must  always  be  the  stronger  and  of 
more  lasting  duration,  and  the  objective  the  weaker, 
and  purely  a  secondary  emotion.  But  this  apparent 
exception  is  simply  because  they  have  the  chief  cause 
within,  altho  they  attribute  it  to  outer  causes.  The 
majority  of  players  will  suffer  considerably  when  first 
rehearsing  a  strong  part  because  the  emotion  springs 
directly  from  the  mind;  later  the  inconvenience  at- 
tendant a  performance  becomes  very  much  less,  be- 
cause the  emotion  has  transformed  itself  into  the  ob- 
jective, and  the  bodily  symbolism  of  gesture  stands 
in  place  of  the  subjective  emotion.  There  must  be 
a  chemical  reaction,  as  the  James-Lange  Theory 
rightly  claims,  but  the  immediate  effect  of  this  ob- 
jective upon  the  individual  will  be  minimum,  altho 
its  cumulative  post-effect  upon  the  nervous  organi- 
zation may  be  serious. 

It  is  a  mooted  question  as  to  whether  a  long  suc- 
cession of  performances  of  the  same  character  are 
more  injurious  than  a  repertory  of  many  characters. 
In  the  "long  run"  the  mind  becomes  so  wearied  and 
so  automatic  from  constant  repetition,  that  any  dis- 
traction which  occurs  during  a  performance  is  likely 
to  drive  the  words  completely  from  the  mind,  and  no 
amount  of  prompting  will  avail  to  suggest  again  the 
flow  of  interrupted  thought.  Some  players  are  driven 
to  complete  nervous  collapse  from  repeated  perform- 
ances of  the  same  role.  They  comt  to  depend  upon 
the  subconscious  to  such  an  extent  that  the  living  mind 
no  longer  controls,  and  they  become  terribly  nervous 
lest  the  subconscious  shall  fail  them.  "The  oftener 
the  object  of  the  sentiment  becomes  the  object  of  any 


30 


The  Psychology  of  Maeterlinck 


one  of  the  emotions  comprised  in  the  system  of  the 
sentiment,  the  more  readily  will  it  evoke  that  emotion 
again,  because,  in  accordance  with  the  law  of  habit, 
the   connexions  of  the  psycho-physical   dispositions! 
become  more  intimate  the  more  frequently  they  arc- 
brought  into  operation."     On  the  other  hand,  the 
person  appearing  in  repertory  keeps  well  to  the  fore- 
ground his  own  personality,  and  seldom  confuses  the 
fictitious  man  with  the  real  man.     Yet  he  is  under 
an  actual  nervous  strain  lest  words  slip  from  his 
active  memory,  for  he  appears  so  infrequently  in  each 
character  that  the  subconscious  does  not  become  4 
very  active  factor  in  memory.      P>equent  change  of 
r61e  seems  to  make  for  better  health  in  the  consci- 
entious player.     But  the  effects  of  weekly  change  of 
play,  as  seen  in  Stock  Companies,  is  not  particularly 
healthful,  altho  the  memory  soon  becomes  trained  to 
accomplish  incredible  feats  of  retentive  memory,  and 
cultivates  the  very  desirable   faculty  of  dismissing 
from  mind  the  parts  which  have  been  discarded  each 
week.     In  cases  such  as  these,  the  player  usually 
has  to  relearn  a  role  if  there  be  a  revival  of  a  play, 
and  at  the  end  of  a  Season  he  has  much  difficulty  to 
recall  even  the  names  of  the  characters,  and  often 
the  names  of  the  plays  themselves  in  which  he  has 
been  seen  that  year. 

A  long  time  ago  I  read  a  very  interesting  psycho- 
logical article  dealing  with  the  death  of  the  late  Sir 
Henry  Irving.  Sir  Henry  died  directly  after  appear- 
ing in  Tennyson's  beautiful  historic  play  Becket. 
The  night  previous  he  had  appeared  in  The  Bells, 
that  Polish  Drama  which  is  among  the  earliest  to 
make  use  of  hypnotism  in  extracting  a  confession 


,1 


Hermencutical  Psychology  of  the  Emotions  31 

from  a  man  accused  of  crime.     Its  correctness  in 
assuming  that  possibility  we  need  not  discuss,  altho 
Hrof.  Jastrow  and  several  other  psychologists  would 
doubtless  agree  that  such  a  thing  is  possible      It  does 
raise  an  intersting  question  of  ethics.    Sir  Henry  had 
for  long  been  iP,  and  was  in  a  weakened  condition  of 
health.     Against   the    advice   of   his    physician,    he 
appeared    in    The    Bells,    and    the    author    of    the 
article      in     question     claimed     that      The     Belh 
was      the      direct      cause      of     death,      that      the 
psychological     strain     of    depicting    the    character 
of   Mathias   had   left   its    fatal    imprint,    and   that 
-t  remained  only  for  the  less  exacting  emotion  of 
Beckett  to  produce  death.     The  writer  then  went  on 
to  show  that  playing  The  Bells  through  the  years, 
and  Sir  Henry  seldom  appeared  in  it  two  nights  in 
succession,  had  little  by  little  undermined  his  consti- 
tution. 

The  deduction  which  we  are  justified  in  making  is, 
that  the  objective  emotions,  even  when  well  under 
the  control  of  the  subjective,  do  leave  their  physical 
impress,  and  frequently  their  psychical,  and  may  in 
time  act  as  cumulative  poisons  in  the  system, 
nnd  finally  affect  a  disintegrrtion  of  personality,  and 
even  a  complete  physical  dissolution,  as  in  the  case 
just  cited  by  way  of  discussion.  There  are  coundess 
cases  on  record  which  might  be  cited  to  uphold  the 
contention,  but  the  statement  is  sufliciently  strong 
to  make  the  point.  The  subconscious  is  a  normal 
function  intended  to  aid  in  every  day  labor,  but  it  is 
cnpabic  of  abnormal  variation  which  may  lead  to  a 
dissolution  of  personality. 


PRiNci-ss  m.\ij:ini<: 

PR/.\CESS  MJLEISE  is  the  first  play  pub- 
lisheu  by  M.  Maurice  Maeterlinck,  and  is 
the  one  which  called  forth  such  effusive 
praise  upon  the  part  of  M.  Octave  Mirbeau, 
who  then  likened  him  to  Shakespeare.  At  first  glance 
one  fails  to  appreciate  the  reason  for  such  extrava- 
gant admiration.  The  drama  is  impossible  as  an  act- 
ing play.  As  Miss  F.thel  Puffer  says,  "The  acting 
play  is  the  play  of  confrontations."  There  are  no 
less  than  twenty-four  scenes  in  this  play,  and  the  cast 
is  long. 

The  symbolism  which  underlies  all  of  Maeter- 
linck's  writings,  and  "the  lurking  universality,  the 
adumbration  of  greater  things."  is  what  makes  his 
plays  fascinating.  I'hc  lines,  as  we  know,  are  often 
common  place,  and  the  casual  reader  casts  aside  the 
book  as  worthy  only  of  the  Kindergarten.  But  the 
more  one  reads  and  ponders,  the  deeper  is  the  im- 
pression, and  the  greater  the  admiiaric.  >Ahich  one 
feels  for  a  man  of  so  keen  a  philosophical  mind,  a 
man  who  has  made  psychological  study  of  the  whole 
world  of  nature. 

"Know   then   thyself,   presume  not   God   to  sian; 
The  proper  study  of  niankind  is  man,"' 

wrote  Alexander  Pope,  and  Charron  said  something 
very  similar  in  De  la  Sagesses,  when  tie  wrote,  "La 
vraye  science  et  le  vray  etude  de  I'homme  c'est 
I'homme."  And  again,  Pascal  in  Systemes  des  Phil- 
osophes   writes,   "Quelle    chimere   est-ce    done   que 

32 


f 


Princess  Maleine  *, 

rhomme:  quelle  nouveaute.  quel  chaos,  quel  suiet  de 
contradiction !  Juge  de  toutes  choses,  imbecile  ver 
de  terre,  dcspositaire  du  vrais,  amas  d'inccrtitude, 
gloire  et  rebut  de  Tun  vers." 

The  study  of  the  progressive  stages  of  senility  in- 
duced  by  over  sexual  indulgence  and  excitement  is  as 
carefully  traced  by  Maeterlinck  in  the  character  of 
King  Marcellus,  as  could  be  traced  by  a  pathologist. 
It  .s  the  same  picture  which  Kipling  has  painted  in  his 
poem  Uie  I  ampin:  Queen  Anne  is  of  that  excep- 
tional class  of  women  who  prey  upon  the  weaknesses 
ot  men  and  suck  their  very  life-blood. 

The  old  become  insensible  to  suffering  because  of 
the.r  diminishing  memory  of  past  pain,   and  their 
se  f-absorption.     So  this  King,  not  only  aged,  but 
mentally  diseased,  ,s  so  dulled  that  after  sharing  in 
the  CO  d-blooded  murder  of  little  Princess  Maleine 
and  after  witnessing  the  murder  of  his  paramour. 
Uueen  Anne,  by  his  own  son.  he  is  svvaved  by  the  very 
rudimentary  emotion,  the  pang  of  hunger.     After 
commenting  upon  the  fact  that  he  will  be  alone   "At 
seventy-seven  ye.rs  !"  he  says  in  a  very  matter-of-fact 
tone    I  et  us  go  to  breakfast."  Then,  his  thought  con- 
trolled for  a  moment  by  the  pleasure-pain  of  the  re- 
past before  him,  inquires,  "Will  there  be  salad  for 
breakfast?     I  should  like  a  little  salad."     But  his 
mind  wanders,  and  he  drops  into  a  mood  of  sorrow 
and  comments  on    his    sadness,    and    the  "unhappy 
look    of  the  dead!     He  is  too  far  gone  mentally  to 
suffer  grief,  for  that  emotion  has  less  of  the  tender 
emotion,  and  more  of  anger.     He  has  long  since  be- 
come incapable  of  feeling  anger,  or  even  pity.     He 
can  teel  only  such  emotions  as  affect  his  very  lowest 


34  The  Psychology  of  Maeterlinck 

sensibilities.  In  the  reverse  order  in  which  man  ac- 
quires the  use  of  his  senses,  so  he  loses  them,  altho 
the  sex  passion  (the  latest  in  development)  in  its  sim- 
plest manifestations  usually  endures  to  the  very  end, 
just  as  Maeterlinck  indicates  in  the  case  of  King  Mar- 
cellus.  Truly  this  study  bears  out  the  Scriptural 
words,  "The  wages  of  sin  is  death." 

Little  Princess  Maleine  does  not  seem  to  offer  any 
complications.     She  is  only  an  immature  child.     It 
IS  a  careful  study  of  juvenile  psychology,  but  of  it 
little  more  can  be  said.     Her  little  ruse  of  lying  to 
the  Princess  Uglyane  in  order  to  prevent  her  keep- 
ing her  tryst  in  the  garden  with  Prince  Hjalmar,  is 
childish.     A  mature  woman  would  have  resorted  to 
other  means  to  rid  herself  of  her  rival.     But  at  no 
time  does  Maleine  rise  to  a  vengeful  emotion.    The 
self-regarding  sentiment  seems  to  be  undeveloped. 
Her  simple  unaffectedness,her  genuine  lack  of  sophis- 
tication, are  what  recommend  her  to  Prince  Hjalmar. 
In  Uglyane  there  is  nothing  pretty  or  attractive, 
—not  even  her  name.     She  is  a  negative  character, 
written  as  a  foil  to  the  simple  naturalness  of  Maleine. 
There  is  something  so  like  Cordelia  of  Shakespeare  in 
Maleine.  that  one  keeps  comparing  them  when  read- 
ing the  play.  Indeed,  the  entire  play  smacks  of  Shake- 
speare, in  the  opening  scene  of  Hamlet,  and  then 
shows  the  influence  of  King  Lear.     The  two  plays. 
King  Lear  and  Princess  Maleine,  are  not  at  all  alike,' 
but  there  is  something  about  the  emotionalism  which 
one  experiences  in  perusing  them,  which  inevitably 
raises  the  comparison. 

Queen  Anne  is  the  "scarlet  woman,"  as  we  have 
already  said.     She  is  an  adventuress.    She  is  swayed 


Princess  Maleine  35 

by  her  sex  passion,  which  is  a  perversion  of  the  nor- 
mal sexual   instinct.     There  is  no  tender  emotion, 
nothing  but  the  self-regarding  sentiment  in  its  basest 
torm.     She  ,s  lecherous  and  slimy.  One  recoils  from 
her    as    from    a    venomous    reptile.      Such    uncon- 
scious  shnnking  from  some  characters  has  arisen  as 
a  matter  of  sel    pr, .taction  '.hrough  the  Ages,  until 
m  hner  natures  u  has  become  an  instinct.     Maurice 
Parmelee  tells  us  that  "no  instinct  is  likely  to  come 
mto  existence  unless  it  performs  some  definite  service 
wh-ch  ,s  of  utility  in  the  struggle  for  existence."    He 
adds  further,  m  explanation,  Instinct  is-"an  inherit- 
ed combmat.on  of  reflexes  which  have  been  Integrated 
by  the  central  nervous  system  so  as  to  cause  an  ex- 
ternal activity  of  the  organism  which  usually  char- 
acterizes a  whole  species  and  is  usually  adaptive,"  but 
instinct  does  not  necessarily  involve  consciousness." 
t'rince  Hjalmar  thus  discloses  noble  traits  of  man- 
hood in  shrinking  from  Queen  Anne's  insinuating  in- 
vitations, and  shaking  off  the  very  touch  of  her  con- 
taminating hands.    He  even  feels  that  her  very  pres- 
ence brings  defilment.  and  avoids  her.     The  one  un- 
solvable  mystery  is  how  he  permitted  himself  to  be 
betrothed  to  the  daughter,  Uglyane.     Perhaps  he 
did  not  appreciate  the  power  of  heredity,  or  perhaps 
It  was  as  a  matter  of  self-preservation,  and  in  the  hope 
that  some  benign  power  might  intervene  to  save  him 
from  so  dreadful  a  fate. 


"Du   musst   glauben,    du    musst   wagen, 
Denn  die  Gotter  leihn  kefn  Pfand, 

Nur  ein  Wunder  kann  dich  tragen 
In  das  schone  Wunderland." 


36 


The  Psychology  of  Maeterlinck 


The  rest  of  the  mitny  characters  need  no  especial 
analysis.    They  are  well-sketched,  and  fill  the  canvas 
admirably.     The  grossness  of  the  beggar-men  is  true 
to  nature.      Every  day  we   read  of  just  such   ap- 
proaches being  made  to  lonely  women.    Perhaps  it  is 
symbolical  of  the  easy  way  which  is  spread  as  a  trap 
for  trusting  womanhood.     The  quarrel  of  the  men 
over  the  charms  of  little  Maleine  when  she  arrives  a 
stranger  in  the  new  country,  is  a  capital  sketch.     So 
is  the  coarseness  of  the  vile  man  who  comes  to  take 
his  bath  in  her  pure  presence.     The  picture  is  dis- 
gusting.   One  shrinks  with  Maleine  from  the  leering 
faces  of  the  debased  men  of  the  streets  and  the  tav- 
ern.    It  is  this  power  to  make  us  feel  an  emotion 
which  sets  Maeterlinck  in  the  foremost  ranks  of  the 
naturalists.      His   pictures   are   always   gloomy   and 
morbid  in  the  extreme,  but  they  are  true  to  the  side 
of  life  which  he  paints.    He  is  of  the  modern  school 
the  most  modern.     His  shadows  are  of  the  deepest. 
By  making  us  share  t'^e  terrible,  low-tone  emotions, 
he   makes   us  appreciate   more   the  high-Iights,    the 
brighter  emotions  of  the  normal.    He  plays  the  mel- 
ody, as  it  were,  with  the  le^t  hand,  and  the  accom- 
paniment is  away  up  in  the  treble.     It  is  a  reversal 
of  what  we  are  most  accustomed,  and  one  must  train 
the  ear  to  the  appreciation  of  such  musical  reversion. 
Yet  it  is  fascinating  and  stirs  us, — perhaps  quite  as 
much  because  it  is  novel,  as  because  it  shocks  our 
sensibilities.      "The    organisn)     prepares   itself   for 
shocks  at  definite  times,  and  shocks  coming  at  those 
times  are  pleasant  because  they  fulfill  a  need." 

The  contrast  of  bustling  life  which  continues  in 
the  most  dreadful  moments  of  existence,  the  fact  that 


Princess  Maleine  3- 

our  little  world  is  in  ourselves  and  plays  no  important 
part  in  th-  affairs  of  men,  is  well  illustrated  by  hav- 
mg  the  child,  Little  Allan,  play  hand-ball  against  the 
door  of  the  very  chamber  where  poor  little  Maleine 
IS  gurgling  out  her  last  moments  of  life  in  poignant 
agony  and  bitter  grief.  As  she  cried  .n  pain  and  fear 
when  born,  so  she  cries  in  pain  and  fear  as  she  dies. 
Yet  the  world  surges  on  just  without  her  door,  and 
those  who  love  her  most  are  unaware  of  her  terrible 
end,  and  are  quite  unable  to  prevent. 

The  play  is  aesthetically  conceived,  and  aestheti- 
cally staged.    For  all  his  love  of  the  natural,  Maeter- 
linck never  permits  himself  to  get  away  from  a  beau- 
tiful stage  picture.    Perhaps  here,  too,  lies  a  secret  of 
the   powerful   emotions   raised  by  his  plays.     One 
thinks  of  those  who  live  in  beautiful  surroundings  as 
happy.     Instead,  he  shows  us  that  they  are  the  most 
miserable  of  men.     The  scenery  furnishes  the  high- 
lights for  contrast  in  the  canvas;  the  puppets  are  the 
shadows  in  the  valley  below.     The  glorious  moun- 
tain peaks  are  always  above  them,  but  to  their  heights 
and  sunny  realms  of  brightness  they  never  are  able 
to  climb. 


PI.LLKAS  AND  MILISANF 

AL  I  Ho  Pr/lnis  and  Mclisande  is  one  of 
the  most  discussed  and  most  admired  of 
Maeterlinck's  dramas,  yet  it  is  one  of  the 
most    difficult   of    psychological    analysis. 
It  IS  free  from  intricacies  in  the  development  of  the 
jealousy  of  sex-passion  as  displayed  by  Golaud,  the 
husband  of  Melisande.     His  is  the  passionate  love  of 
typical  man.     He  is  not  nearly  so  fine  a  character  as 
Pelleas,  for  he  is  not  able  to  distinguish  between  phy- 
sical and  spiritual  affinities,  nor  can  he  appreciate  the 
pure  afifection,  free  from  all  sexual  taint,  which  exists 
between   his  brother,   Pelleas,   and   his  wife,    Meli- 
sande.    This  drama  is  so  very  characteristic  of  Mae- 
terlinck and  his  methods  of  expression  that  one  is  lost, 
because  it  is  the  emotion  which  the  play  creates  that 
sways.     It  is  "art"  in  the  proper  sense  of  that  much 
abused  term.     "The  function  of  art  is  not  practical, 
or  ethical,  or  scientific,  or  philosophic,  but  emotion- 
al."    Further,  "the  nature  of  emotion  is  to  disturb 
the  mind,  and  hence  also  the  language  of  expres- 
sion." 

The  lovers  were  but  children,  even  as  Golaud  him- 
self says  in  the  scene  without  the  Tower  where  Me- 
lisande sits  combing  her  long  tresses  in  the  window 
whilst  Pelleas  below  is  passionately  kissing  their  un- 
bound glory.  "What  children!  What  children!" 

Mme.  Maeterlinck,  who  has  oft  appeared  in  this 
symphonic  drama  with  its  beautiful  accompaniment 
of  Claude  Debussy  music,  says  that  it  was  the  inten- 

38 


Pelleas  and  Melisande 


39 


tion  of  Maeterlinck  that  Melisande  should  be  con- 
sidered an  honest  woman.     Mrs.  Patrick  Campbell 
uho   has   acted  the   part  in   London   with    Mr    j' 
Icrbes-Robertson,  says  that  Melisande  was  not  in- 
nocent, and  that  she  and  Pelleas  were  afraid  of  the  ^ 
sexual  emotion  which  held  them  in  sway.    Such  would 
seem  to  be  the  suspicion  of  Golaud  when  he  held  his 
son  up  to  the  window  to  observe  what  was  passing 
withm  the  chamber,  and  the  child  reported  the  twain       " 
standing  the   width   of  the   room   apart,   breathing 
heavily,   and  with  eyes  dilated,  as  two  animals  at      >r 
bay.     "It  sometimes  happens   that  the  emotion   is 
strongest  when  the  external  action  is  inhibited,  be- 
cause action  usually  relieves  the  organic  conditio,  s       ' 
uhich  give  rise  to  the  emotion.     This  indicates  how 
an  emotion  may  re-enforce  and  strengthen  a  tendency 
to   an   action   in   order   to  secure  the   relief  which 
comes  through   action.     This   is  why  emotions  be- 
come powerful   factors  in  the  determination  of  be- 
havior."    They  were  above  the  observation  of  con- 
vention, so  we  cannot  believe  that  they  insisted  upon 
having  present  the  Little  Yniold  to  satisfy  such  social 
conventions.     It  seems  better  to  believe  that,  altho 
there  may  never  have  been  any  stepping  aside  from 
the   paths  of   rectitude   and   virtue,   that  they   felt 
strongly  the  sexual  emotion  which  was  drawing  them 
closer  and  ever  closer.     "It  is  a  weak  emotion  which 
does  not  sweep  the  will  before  it,"  so  they  kept  the 
child  with  them  as  a  protection  against  themselves. 

When  Golaud  sends  Melisande  to  seek  the  lost 
wedding-ring,  one  sees  in  her  hesitancy  to  go  with 
Pelleas  that  she  is  afraid  of  her  own  strength,  and 
realizes  the  danger  that  lies  that  way.     There  may 


40 


The  Psychology  of  Maeterlinck 


also  be  a  hint  of  underlying  symbolism  in  that  as  they 
had  lost  the  ring  when  playing  together,  so  they 
should  find  It  together,  and  so,  in  a  sense,  restore  the 
bond  which  had  been  severed.  The  three  sleeping 
beggars  m  the  cave,  whither  they  go  to  conceal  the 
he  which  the  wife  has  told,  are  doubtless  symbolical 
of  the  three  persons  of  this  moving  drama,— Golaud, 
Pelleas,  and  Melisande.  They  were  sleeping  in  a 
spiritual  sense,  oblivious  of  the  rising  tides  of  emo- 
tion which  might  come  at  any  moment  and  engulf 
them,  and  which  Hnally  does  rise  anH  sweep  them  all 
to  their  death.  Pelleas,  too,  is  aware  of  the  rising 
emotion  within  his  breast,  and  is  fain  to  depart,  but 
is  urged  to  linger,  and  weaidy  consents.  But  for 
this  weak  yielding  all  might  have  been  well.  "He 
who  hesitates  is  lost." 

One  incident  in  the  play  stands  out  prominently  to 
make  one  wonder  just  how  innocent  was  Melisande; 
that  is,  the  episode  in  the  Park  when,  recklessly  toss- 
ing her  wedding-ring  above  the  sparkling  waters  of 
the  well,  she  loses  it  in  the  depths.  The  incident  is 
symbolical  of  her  reckless  regard  of  the  conventions, 
and  the  construction  which  her  husband  and  the 
world  would  put  upon  her  relations  with  her  brother- 
in-law,  Pelleas.  Pelleas  warns  her  of  danger  of 
loss  of  the  ring,  but  she  wilfully  disregards,  and  the 
inevitable  happens.  That  she  has  no  standard  of 
honor  is  evident  when,  instead  of  being  willing  to 
frankly  confess  how  and  where  she  lost  the  ring,  she 
immediately  formulates  a  lie, -the  cave,  to  which 
we  later  see  her  repairing  because  she  is  ignorant  of 
its  interior  and  must  see  it  in  order  to  live  up  to  the 
false  fabric  of  the  tale  of  the  lost  ring.     Had  she 


Pelleas  and  Melisande  41 

been  innocent,  there  seems  no  reason  why  she  should 
not  have  been  wilhng  to  tell  her  husband  the  truth 
concerning  the  ring.  It  is  evident  that  already  she 
was  controlled  by  the  sexual  emotion,  and,  tho  she 
had  not  surrendered  physically,  that  she  felt  herself 
too  greatly  swayed  to  withstand  any  close  question- 
ing by  her  husband  concerning  the  affection  which 
she  bore  t  ward  Pelleas. 

Melisande  is  a  strange  woman,  and  very  much 
more  difficult  of  comprehension  because  we  know 
nothing  of  her  past.    The  readiness  with  which  Go- 
laud  accepts  the  unknown  Melisande  and  subsequently 
marries  her,  is  reason  for  considerable  surprise.     It 
would  seem  to  be  a  case  of  "Love  at  sight."     One 
IS  often  intuitively  drawn  toward  a  person,  or  just 
as    unaccountably  repulsed.     What    we    call  "intui- 
tion" is  not  really  such ;  it  is  the  subconscious  acting 
for  us.     In  the  course  of  life  one  meets  many  per- 
sons and  comes  to  know  their  peculiarities  and  eccen- 
tricities—their character.     These  persons  are  cata- 
logued,  as  it  were,  and  placed  in  niches  of  the  mem- 
ory.   When  we  again  meet  any  one  of  that  type,  we 
are  attracted  or  repulsed  simply  because  the  subcon- 
scious draws  upon  this  storehouse  of  information 
and  makes  a  quick  survey  and  calc  .lation  of  the  indi- 
vidual in  question,    and    approves    or   disapproves. 
Our  first  likes  or  dislikes  are  correct  when  we  have 
been  careful  observers  of  human-nature,  and  have  a 
reliable  subconscious.     It  is  well-recognized  that  a 
man  is  usually  drawn  toward  such  women  as  resem- 
ble in  some  considerable  degree  his  mother,  whereas 
a  woman  is  likely  to  be  attracted  to  a  man  with  the 
characteristics,  mental  or  physical,  of  her  father.  Go- 


4i 


The  Psychology  of  M  u.'terlinck 


laud  therefore,  was  drawn  to  Melisande  in  this  way 
-either  she  resembled  his  former  wife,  whose  loss 
was  vitally  present  in  his  mind,  or  his  mother.    Per! 
haps  ,t  wou  d  be  better  to  say  that  she  partook  of  the 
attributes  of  each,  for  the  Hrst  wife  would  have  had 
much  which  was  characteristic  of  his  mother.     She 
wodd  be  attracted  to  him  for  similar  reasons.  What 
we  call     woman's  mtuition"  is  only  a  keenly  devel- 
oped subconscious,  which  might  well  be  likened  to  the 
developed  sense  of  smell  of  animals;  it  seems  unfath! 
Tal  bLis     "'^'^'"""^'  ^"^  ''^  ^"""ded  upon  sure  nat- 

lo  t  a  '"'^^^'^""^^'-^"^^v.rtue,  perhaps.  And  she  has 
lost  a  golden  crown.  Was  that  her  virtue?  What- 
ever the  crown  was  symbolical  of,  she  had  no  desire 

thatT T  '!;  '"^,7'"  '^"^  '^'  ^^^^^  ^^^  «°  shallow 
that  Golaud  could  readily  have  reached  the  glitter- 
ing bauble,  yet  she  shows  her  pettishness  of  disposi- 
non.  her  stubbornness,  and  protests  that  she  will  not 
wear  ,t!  She  cries,  "I  am  lost!-I  am  lost!"  And  he 
reiterates,  prophetically,  '<!  am  lost  too!"     Lost  in 
the  emotion  of  the  tender  sentiment,  lost  to  happi- 
ness, lost  to  what?    Maeterlinck  does  not  tell  us,  but 
he  whole  motive  of  this  drama  resounds  to  that  crv 
"Lost,  Lost,  Lost!"  ^' 

That  the  characters  were  lost  to  virtue  would 
seem  to  be  the  symbolism  of  the  prologue,  when  the 
procession  of  servants  comes  out  at  the  front  door 
and  begin  to  cleanse  the  stained  marble  steps,  and 
one  comments,  "We  shall  never  be  able  to  Ln  all 
this,  and  the  Porter  remarks,  "Pour  on  water:  pour 
on  water,  pour  on  all  the  water  of  the  Flood  I  You  will 


Pelteas  and  Melts ande  43 

never  come  to  the  end  of  it."  How  these  words  of  the 
Porter  suggest  the  line  from  Macbeth,-"Out,  dam- 
ned  spot  I  out,  I  say  I"  Then  one  instantly  connects, 
and  prophetically,  most  likely,  the  line,  "All  the  per- 
fumes  of  Arabia  will  not  sweeten  this  little  hand!" 
Thac  last  sentence  of  the  Porter  hints  at  the  mysti- 
asm  and  mystery  of  the  plot,  and  that  seek  as  much 
as  we  will,  like  Golaud,  we  shall  never  come  to  the 
depths  of  the  controlling  emotion. 

In  the  end  Melisande  dies  from  the  tender  passion. 
1  he  physician  pronounces  that  she  is  not  dying  from 
the  abuse  received  at  the  hands  of  Golaud.    But  Go- 
laud's  conduct  toward  her,  especially  that  hideous 
scene  when,  maddened  by  jealousy,  he  drives  her  be- 
fore him  crawling  upon  her  knees,  and  guided  by  her 
ong  tresses  which  he  handles  as  reins,  has  killed  the 
last  spark  of  love  which  she  had  ever  had  for  him 
Some  women  would  have  cowered  submissive,  and 
frightened  by  these  violent  signs  of  his  jealous  pas- 
sion, but  she  was  of  the  other  type  of  women,  and 
her  affection  had  already  gone  out  to  Pelleas,  who 
w?>  in  every  way  the  better  man.     Even  in  the  mo- 
ment of  her  death,  Golaud  must  question  and  reques- 
tion,  for  he  is  so  firm  a  believer  in  the  doctrine  that 
every  event  in  mind  has  its  event  in  the  body  " 
that  he  cannot  believe  that  if  his  wife  loved  Pelleas 
intensely,  she  could  be  pure  and  virtuous.     She  had 
hed  to  him  in  the  loss  of  the  ring,  and  now  he  has 
no  confidence  in  her  protests. 

The  sentiment  of  motherhood  is  most  touchingly 
displayed  as  the  poor,  weak,  doll-mother,  tries  to 
stretch  her  arms  toward  her  tiny  offspring,  and  the 
tears  course  down  her  cheeks  as  she  realizes  her  help- 


44 


The  Psychology  of  Alaeterlinck 


lessness,  her  inability  to  ever  clasp  the  babe  to  her 
bosom.  At  this  moment  "Her  soul  weeps,"  as  Mae- 
terlinck makes  old  Arkel  say.  Is  it  only  the  emotion 
of  mother-love  which  sways  her  and  so  deeply  stirs 
the  well-springs  of  her  pity  and  loneliness?  Is  it  the 
primal  instinct  of  fear  as  she  faces  "the  great  cold?" 
Or  is  it  because  in  her  extremis  her  guilty  past  rises 
before  her,  and  she  feels  herself  unworthy  of  moth- 
erhood, and  that  her  life  is  ending  with  the  stain  of 
a  lie  upon  her  lips? 

Perhaps  that  we  are  so  perplexed,  like  Golaud,  in 
our  opinions  of  Melisande,  is  simply  because  she  has 
a  loosely  organized  habit  of  thought,  and  has  never 
reached  maturity, — the  time  when  our  emotions  and 
sentiments  are  supposed  to  be  organized  and  settled 
in  definite  channels.  T.  H.  Green,  in  Prologomena 
of  Ethics,  says,  "Conscience  or  moral  character  is  an 
organized  system  of  habits  of  will."  Melisande 
seems  to  be  of  the  type  who  has  never  acquired  such 
a  character.  She  has  weakly  surrendered  to  each 
gust  of  the  wind  of  emotion,  and  her  final  tears  may 
be  simply  those  of  a  weak  soul  who,  in  dying,  realizes 
that  her  life  has  been  thrown  away,  and  that  she  has 
accomplished  nothing.  She  was  simply  a  negative 
in  the  world  of  life. 

Golaud,  the  husband,  was  governed  by  the  con- 
ventionalities, was  a  man  of  his  time,  with  all  the 
vital  passions  and  emotions  of  a  normal  man.  His 
character  had  been  shaped  by  the  society  in  which 
he  came  in  contact.  "No  individual  can  make  a 
conscience  for  himself.  He  always  needs  a  society 
to  make  it  for  him."  As  to  what  is  conscience, 
Paulsen  has  answered,  "The  rational  will,  governed 


Pelleas  and  Melisande 


45 


by  an  ideal,  subjects  the  lower  forms  of  will,  impulse, 
and  desire,  which  persists  even  in  man  as  natural  pre- 
dispositions, to  constant  criticism  and  to  a  process  of 
selection.  This  criticism  we  call  conscience."  As 
the  question  of  PVeedom  of  Will  may  arise  to  con- 
front us  later  in  our  discussion,  I  will  quote  a  few 
more  lines  from  Paulsen.  "The  faculty  of  educat- 
ing and  disciplining  the  natural  will  by  means  of  the 
rational  will  is  called  Freedom  of  the  Will.  A  being 
who  thus  controls  his  inner  life  is  called  a  personal 
being." 

Golaud  seems  strong  in  the  love  of  family  and 
home;  this  is  evident  from  his  aftection  for  his 
parents  and  his  little  son,  Yniold.  This  is  the  high- 
est form  of  the  sexual  emotion.  At  its  basis  we  find 
jealousy.  "Jealousy  arises  when  the  object  of  the 
sentiment  gives  to  another,  or  merely  is  thought  to 
give  to  another,  any  part  of  the  regard  thus  claimed 
for  the  self."  Pelleas  and  Melisande  stood  in  this 
position,  hence  the  emotion  in  Golaud.  Anger  is  .i 
very  active  emotion  in  this  sentiment  of  jealousy,  and 
we  have  some  violent  exhibitions  of  it,  — in  the 
scene  with  Melisande,  for  example,  where  he  forces 
her  to  crawl  on  her  knees  before  him.  Revenge  is 
another  ingredient;  vengeful  emotion  is  complex, 
and  partakes  of  both  anger  and  the  self-regarding 
sentiment.  There  is  a  sense  of  injury;  Golaud  felt 
that  Pelleas  had  trespassed  upon  the  sacred  fold  of 
Melisande's  love  for  himself  (Golaud).  He  re- 
solves to  put  him  out  of  the  way,  and  leads  him  be- 
neath the  castle,  where  are  dank  and  slimy  pools,  with 
intent  of  drowning  him  there.  "Orientation  of  our 
consciousness  towards  action  appears  to  be  the  fun- 


46  The  Psyrhology  of  MaelerUmk 

damental  law  of  psychical  life."     But  pity,   (a  sym- 
pathetic pain),  gains  the  ascendancy,  and  he  brings 
Pelleas  back  into  the  light  of  day.  and  dismisses  him 
with  a  naming  to  he  more  circumspect  hereafter  in 
his  relations  with  Melisande.   But  the  vengeful  emo- 
tion still  gnaws  at  Golaud's  heart  like  a  canker,  until, 
at    the    rtnal    moment,    when    he    sees    his  broth- 
er  and    his   wife   enclasped    in   each    other's    arms, 
he    slays    his    brother,     (Felleas),    and    casts    his 
body    into   the    deep,    deep    well,    where    the    wed- 
dmg-nng    has    already    been    lost.       The    episode 
of    Pelleas    drowning    in    the    well    is    quite    sym- 
bolic, and  points  to  anything  but  innocent  relations 
between  the  man  and  the  woman.    (Jolaud's  abuse  of 
Melisande  is  in  accord  with  his  sentiment  of  jealousy, 
for.  "any  expression  of  regard  for  a  third  person 
(Melisande  for  Pelleas),  on  the  part  of  the  object 
of  the  sentiment,  provokes  a  jealousy  of  which  the 
anger  turns  mainly  upon  that  object    (Melisande* 
itself." 

The  final  emotion  which  controls  Golaud  is  grief. 
This  differs  from  mere  sorrow,  in  that  it  has  "less 
of  the  tender  emotion  and  more  of  anger."     He  is 
angry  that  Melisande  should  die  now  thar  Pelleas  is 
out  of  the  way,  and  he  is  free  to  bask  in  her  charms. 
Yet  the  very  same  emotion  of  anger  had  compelled 
him  to  the  double  murder.     What  finally  becomes  of 
Golaud  it  is  hard  to  speculate.     However,  to  be  log- 
ical, one  would  anticipate  that  the  emotion  of  resent- 
ment at  the  death  of  the  object  of  his  affection,  and 
the  anger  at  being  cheated  by  death,  would  send  him 
to  suicide.     He  is  of  the  type  who  should  have  slain 
himself  in  a  spasm  of  rage  and  fallen  across  the  life- 


WiST. 


Pelleas  and  Melisande 


47 


less  form  of  pitiable  little  MclisanHe. 

()i  Pelleas  less  can  be  said.  Ur.uoubtcdiy  he  was 
swayed  by  the  sexual  emotion,  and  the  positive  sen- 
timent of  self-feeling  was  so  stirred  that  he  thrilled 
beneath  it,  and,  like  a  child  playing  with  fire,  kept 
tempting  himself  by  holding  always  before  his  eyes 
the  form  of  Melisande,  and  by  being  in  her  society 
so  constantly,  until  at  last  he  was  burned.  When 
Golaud  gave  him  the  warning  to  be  more  careful,  it 
was  too  late,  for  the  emotion  of  admiration,  which 
was  based  upon  wonder  that  Melisande  should  love 
him,  and  partook  of  the  sentiment  of  negative  self- 
feeling,  which  was  submission  to  her  will,  had  ap- 
proached to  the  emotion  of  fascination,  and  he  was 
held  chained,  rooted  to  the  spot,  the  worshipper  of 
her  aesthetic  presence.  His  emotion  was  too  great 
to  be  governed  by  will,  so,  like  the  poor  moth  who 
ignominiously  perishes  in  the  light  of  the  flame,  he 
went  to  his  death. 

"A  fier>'  soul,  which,  working  out  its  way, 

Fretted   the  pyp:my-body  to  decay, 
And  o'er-informed  the  tenement  of  clay. 

A  daring  pilot  in  extremity; 
Pleased   with   the  danger,  when   the  waves  went  high 

He  sought  the  storms." 

But  one  feels  that  there  is  something  lacking  in 
the  aesthetic  harmony  of  the  drama,  and  is  annoyed. 
Our  instinct  of  construction  feels  offended.  Our  sym- 
pathies have  been  played  upon,  and  yet  our  instinct 
of  curiosity  has  not  been  satisfied.  Violence  has  been 
done  to  our  self-regarding  sentiment,  and  we  leave 
the  play  with  an  emotion  of  resentment  toward 
Maeterlinck,  the  author. 


..>«liS'     r:irfil'    .i 


THE  INTRUDER 

THE  INTRUDER  belongs  to  the  morbid 
quartette  of  plays,  of  which  the  other  three 
are  The  Blind,  The  Seven  Princesses,  and 
The  Death  of  Tintagiles.    p:ach  is  a  study 
in  the  approach  of  death,  and  the  emotions  which 
are  experienced  by  the  subject,  or  which  affect  the 
onlookers.     In  The  Intruder,  we  are  introduced  to  a 
family  circle  seated  about  the  table,  talking  in  low 
whispers  so  as  not  to  disturb  the  Mother  lying  ill  in 
the  adjoining  room.     In  a  corner  a  few  feet  removed, 
sits  the  old,  blind  grandfather,  who,  because  the  hour 
of  his  own  dissolution  is  near  at  hand,  is  more  sensi- 
tive to  every  sound  and  presence  than  the  lively, 
healthy  group  at  the  table.     The  old  man  is  keenly 
alert,  scenting  the  presence  of  death  in  their  midst  as 
surely  as  cats  are  said  to  realize  the  approach  of  the 
shadowy  wing  of  the  dark  angel.     There  may  be  a 
physiological  basis  for  the  ability  to  perceive  the  ap- 
proach of  death.    There  is  an  odor  peculiar  to  those 
who  are  dying,  and  some  who  have  more  highly  de- 
veloped organs  of  smell  may  detect  this  aroma,  and 
so  have  the  ability  which  Ignorant  people  would  term 
second-sight  or  clairvoyance;   it   is  well-known  that 
the  trained  physician  often  detects  the  nature  of  a 
disease  by  the  odor;  in  this  same  way  he  oft  informs 
himself  of  the  actual  progress  of  a  disease.    Or,  the 
grandfather  may  have  felt  death  simply  because  his 
senses  were  keener  owing  to  his  lack  of  sight,  and 
his  acute  ear  detected  movements  of  the  nurse  in  the 

4ft 


The  Intruder 


49 


adjoining  room,  which  conveyed  to  his  mind  the  im- 
pression that  all  was  not  well. 

The  old  man  is  the  one  important  figure  in  this 
play.  The  others  seem  preternaturally  obtuse  and  of 
dulled  sensitiveness.  It  is  strange  that  not  one  seems 
to  care  to  be  near  the  Mother  who  lies  so  very  ill, 
but  that  all  should  sit  talking  about  the  table.  But 
strangest  of  all  is  the  fact  that  they  leave  alone  the 
tiny  baby  in  the  lonely  bedroom.  Maeterlinck  makes 
a  very  fine  comparison  of  the  close  rapport  of  child- 
hood and  senility  (second-childhood),  by  making  the 
grandfather  feel  the  presence  of  death,  and  the  babe 
cry  out  in  terror  at  the  final  moment  when  the  angel 
passes  by.  Here  again  we  must  draw  upon  the  mysti- 
cal for  an  explanation.  Says  Mr.  Henry  Frank, 
"This  bioplasm  ("soul") — is  so  completely  a  dupli- 
cate of  the  opaque  visible  body,  of  which  we  are  con- 
stantly conscious,  that  could  this  outer  shell  be  re- 
moved, leaving  only  the  inner,  invisible  body,  we 
would  have  a  rarefied  duplication  of  ourselves, 
which  if  it  were  phosphorescent  and  should  be  over- 
taken in  the  dark  would  be  a  sublimate  semblance  of 
our  bodies  very  much  in  appearance  what  people 
think  a  ghost  to  be." 

All  matter  is  material,  and  this  bioplasm  is  also 
material.  Therefore,  the  "soul"  is  material,  and  phy- 
sical, altho  of  so  fine  a  substance  that  it  is  transparent 
and  invisible.  As  science  now  admits  the  presence  of 
living  matter  in  compass  too  small  to  be  evident  to 
the  human  eye  even  with  the  aid  of  the  most  power- 
ful glass  yet  invented,  so  should  we  admit  the  exist- 
ence of  the  snul,  that  which  is  usually  termed  the 
"spiritual."    As  some  natures  throw  off  a  luminous 


50  The  Psychology  of  Maeterlinck 

radiance  of  phosphorescence  which  forms  a  halo,  vis- 
ible  to  some  eyes,  so  do  souls  project  a  phosphores- 
cent radiance  of  simulacrum  to  the  fleshly  body,  and 
this  simulacrum  is  visible  to  the  eyes  of  some  mortals 
of  unusual  or  further  developed  spiritual  vision. 
Chemistry  has  been  the  great  demonstrator  of  phy- 
sical truth,  and  there  lies  the  hope  that  not  far  dis- 
tant Chemistry  will  reveal  the  existence  of  this  ether- 
eal body,  the  soul.  An  extremely  sensitive  camera 
plate  will  catch  impressions  which  go  unnoticed  by 
the  human  eye  with  its  physical  limitations.  Already 
scientists  claim  to  have  recorded  upon  a  sensitive 
plate  the  umbra  of  a  dying  rodent.  Further  experi- 
ments are  being  pressed  in  certain  French  Labora- 
tones,  and  at  any  moment  we  may  hear  of  triumphal 
success  in  catching  a  glimpse  of  the  departing  human 
soul. 

Such  theories  may  sound  mystical  in  the  extreme, 
and  many  readers  may  have  no  patience  with  such 
ideas,  but  Prof.  James  has  said,  "It  is  the  mystics 
who  have  usually  proved  to  be  right  about  the  facts, 
while  the  scientifics  had  the  better  of  it  in  respect  to 
the  theories." 

The  spirit  of  the  passing  Mother  doubtless 
prompted  the  cry  of  the  infant.  There  is  a  close  af- 
finity between  Mother  and  young  child  which  con- 
veys the  emotion  experienced  by  the  one  to  the  other, 
and  even  affects  the  health  of  each.  The  child  would 
recognize  its  Mother's  presence,  when  it  would  not  be 
able  to  distinguish  others.  We  do  not  know  the  age  of 
this  babe,  so  cannot  base  our  opinions  upon  its  de- 
velopment of  the  eye,  for  it  may  have  been  too  young 
to  have  had  use  of  those  organs.    Mr.  Preyer  says, 


The  Intruder  ^j 

"The  newborn  infant  not  only  has  no  reason  or  con- 
sciousness,  but  is  also  deaf  and  only  gradually  devcl- 
ops  Its  sense  and  thought  centres."  And  Mr  Frank 
supplements,  "The  child  is  blind  when  just  bom,  as 
can  easily  be  proved  by  experimenting  with  objects; 
and  when  it  at  length  sees  the  light  or  some  object,  it 
imagines  it  is  "in  its  eye,"  for  it  clutches  at  it,  wheth- 
er It  be  close  as  a  neighboring  chair  or  as  distant  as  a 
star  But  the  child  instinctively  recognized  its 
Mother,  and  cried  in  fear  when  she  had  passed 

The  peculiar  mental  emotions  which  are  experi- 
enced by  the  subjects  in  this  moving  domestic  drama 
are  true  to  all  rules  of  psychology.     Mr.  Evans  has 
said,     In  all  operations  of  the  mind,  thoughts  and 
feelings  are  inextricably  interblended,  and  it  is  im- 
possible to  draw  a  line  of  demarkation  between  them. 
Ihere  is  no  language  of  emotion  as  opposed  to  or 
essentially  distinct  from  language  of  thought.    Emo- 
tion is  only  thought  under  tension,  though  strongly 
emphasized  and  impelled  by  desire.     Every  cry  or 
exclamation  presupposes  an  idea  of  intellectual  con- 
ception, without  which  the  emotion  would  never  arise- 
and  It  IS  hardly  possible  to  determine  where  the  one 
begins  and  the  other  ends." 

The  thought-transference  of  approaching  death 
which  the  daughter  transferred  to  the  old  man,  her 
father,  was  of  the  class  termed  "veridical,"  in  that 
It  coincides  with  the  calamity  impending.  Mr.  My- 
ers, who  has  gone  into  this  condition  very  deeply  has 
written  this  paragraph,  "Each  of  us  is  in  reality  an 
abiding  psychical  entity  far  more  extensive  than  he 
lcnows,-an  individuality  which  can  never  express  it- 
self  completely   through   any  corporeal   manifesta- 


52 


The  Psychology  of  Maeterlinck 


tion.  The  self  manifests  itself  through  the  organism; 
but  there  is  always,  as  it  seems,  some  power  or  or- 
ganic expression  in  abeyance  or  reserve." 

But  enough.  Whatever  explanations  we  may  bring 
forward  to  elucidate  the  mental  emotions  of  the  old 
man  who  hears  the  steady  tramp,  tramp  of  approach- 
mg  death,  the  fact  remains  that  he  does  hear  it,  and 
that  the  tiny  babe  hears,  and  perchance  sees.  It  is 
a  play  of  intense  mysticism,  and  the  most  interesting 
thing  of  all  is,  that  Maeterlinck  has  placed  it  in 
such  a  common-place  setting,  made  every  incident 
so  very  natural,  that  the  reader  takes  it  into  his  own 
world.  There  is  nothing  uncommon  in  the  entire 
scene,  nothing  in  the  occurrence  materially  different 
from  similar  scenes  through  which  we  have  passed 
during  the  anxious  hours  of  watching  and  waiting 
while  the  soul  of  some  dear  one  was  awaiting  the 
toll  of  the  heavenly  knell  which  would  lead  the  soul 
to  other  worlds  beyond  mortal  ken. 

Maeterlinck  charges  the  atmosphere  with  the  in- 
tensity of  this  emotion  and  we  catch  the  emotion, 
and  feel  our  nerves  tingle  in  accord.  There  is  a 
peculiar  telepathic  connection  established  between  the 
personages  of  the  drama,  and  the  spectator,  which 
makes  the  thesis  itself  seem  plausible,  for  if  we  can 
experience  this  emotion  by  simply  watching  its  de- 
velopment as  part  of  the  plot,  there  is  less  ground 
to  question  the  existence  of  an  emotional  rapport  be- 
tween the  old  man  and  his  daughter,  and  the  daugh- 
ter and  her  off-spring,  the  tiny,  weak  little  soul,  strug- 
gling for  life  in  the  one  bed-chamber,  as  the  Mother 
has  been  struggling  in  the  other.  One  is  justified 
in  saying  that  there  is  a  comparative  study  of  the 


The  Intruder 


53 


babe  struggling  with  life,  for  it  has  come  so  recently 
from  the  land  of  dreams,  and  the  Mother  in  the 
other  room,  struggling  hard  with  death,  for  she  has 
many  years  belonged  to  this  world,  the  world  which 
we  call  the  material.  The  contrast  of  material  and 
spiritual  is  made  with  an  exact  hand. 

"We  are  the  voices  of  the  wandering  wind, 
Which  moan  for  rest,  and  rest  can  never  find  ; 
Lo!  as  the  wind  is,  so  is  mortal  life, 
A  moan,  a  sigh,  a  sob,  a  storm,  a  strife. 

Wherefore  and  whence  we  are  ye  cannot  know, 
Nor  where  life  springs,  nor  whither  life  doth  go; 
We  are  as  ye  are,  ghosts  from  the  inane. 
What  pleasure  have  we  of  our  changeful  pain  ?" 

Sir  Edwin  Arnold. 

Now  let  us  glance  at  this  group  of  four  plays  in 
the  order  in  which  Maeterlinck  has  developed  them. 
His  theme  is  death  and  its  manner  of  approach  and 
Its  methods  of  communication  to  the  persons  con- 
cerned. 

The  Intruder,  as  we  have  seen,  brings  in  the 
psychic  and  shows  that  there  is  nothing  unusual,  be 
It  ever  so  mysterious,  in  the  quiet  approach  of  death, 
and  the  realization  of  the  fact  being  transferred  to 
the  mind  of  a  person  in  another  room,  or,  to  stretch 
the  doctrine  further,  in  another  part  of  the  world. 
These  telepathic  communications  between  soul  and 
soul  at  the  hour  of  dissolution  are  so  well-established 
in  every  day  experience  that  they  have  passed  beyond 
any  realm  of  doubt,  and  require  no  exegesis  to  de- 
monstrate.    We  have  discovered  a  method  of  tele- 


54 


The  Psychology  of  Maeterlinck 


graphing  pictures  by  means  of  telegraph  instruments, 
and,    it  is   claimed,   of  even  transferring  reflected 
images  very  short  distances,— perhaps  only  a   few 
hundred  feet— by  telephone.     In  some  such  manner 
the  brain  of  one  person  makes  an  impression  upon 
the  other,  and  the  waves  of  the  other  make  a  cor- 
responding impression  upon  the  brain  of  the  other 
person,  which  causes  the  mental  picture  of  the  per- 
son making  the  communication  to  materialize  in  the 
brain  area.     To  once  more  refer  to  Mr.  Evans,  who 
has  said  so  many  fine  things  which  bear  directly  upon 
the  doctrines  of  Maeterlinck,  "Metaphysics  would 
seem  to  be  the  spiritual  counterpart  of  metamor- 
phosis, the  transmigration  of  souls  being  logically  and 
analogically  suggested  as  a  corollary  to  the  trans- 
mutation of  species.     The  one  does  not  necessarily 
involve  the  other,  but  both  lie  in  the  same  line  of 
thought.     There  is  no  reason  why  the  theory  of 
the  conservation  and  persistence  of  force  should  not 
be  applicable  to  mental  or  psychical,  as  well  as  to 
mechanical   or  physical   forces.      No   impulse  ever 
ceases,  no  motion  is  ever  lost,  no  atom  can  be  dis- 
turbed without  disturbing  every  atom   in  the  uni- 
verse.    If  a  sparrow  fall  to  the  ground,  the  mo- 
mentum of  its  falling  body  is  imparted  to  and  affects 
every  particle  of  the  globe.     But  what  becomes  of 
the  vital  force  which  animated  the  bird  and  impelled 
it  through  the  air?" 


THE  BLIND 

IN  The  Blind,  death  creeps  into  the  midst  of  the 
group  without  any  warning,  and  without  any 
intelhgence  of  his  presence  on  the  part  of  the 
miserable  circle  surrounding  the  ancient  priest. 

^7 a'  I     '''''  ^"'  '^''  ^^'^'^  ^^^"'^  "ot  to  know 
that  death  is  near.     This  would  seem  to  strengthen 
our  position  in  holding  that  the  babe  was  aware  of 
death  in  the  preceding  play  because  it  was  its  Mother 
who  had  been  taken.    The  fact  that  it  is  death  which 
has  come  unannounced  is  discovered  and  made  known 
by  the  faithful  dog,  in  the  present  play.     The  dog 
obeys  an  instinct,  and  barks  at  his  master.     In  The 
Fhtlosophy  of  the  Unconscious,  Edouard  Von  Hart- 
mann  says,  "Instinct  is  a  purposive  action  of  whose 
purpose  the  actor  is  unconscious."     There  is  some 
question  in  my  mind  as  to  whether  this  covers  the 
exact  truth  in  this  present  case.     To  a  certain  extent 
•t  does.     The  dog  obeyed  his  instinct  in  barking  at 
he  priest,  but  whether  he  was  acting  upon  a  formed 
thought  which  prompted  him  to  bark  in  order  to 
awaken  the  master  that  he  might  take  them  all  home 
tor  a  good  supper  and  a  warm  bed,  is  another  ques- 
tion.    Certainly  one  does  not  feel  that  the  dog  was 
aware  that  his  master  was  dead.     Altho,  animals  are 
usually  keen  to  scent  something  wrong,  and  raise  a 
miserable  wail  toward  the  skies. 

The  blind  then  discover  that  the  priest  is  present, 
and  in  a  few  moments  that  he  is  dead.  But  to  them 
his  departure  has  been  unheralded.     The   former 

SS 


56 


The  Psychology  of  Maeterlinck 


play  showed  the  presence  by  mental  telepathy,  based 
upon  the  affection  between  the  parent  and  child, 
whereas  this  play  seems  to  set  forth  the  doctrine  that 
without  mutual  love  and  affection  there  cannot  be  a 
telepathic  communication.  The  mind  of  the  priest 
was  so  high  above  the  minds  of  the  poor  beggars 
that  there  was  no  avenue  of  communication,  and  they 
were  not  able  to  grasp  the  fact  of  his  dissolution. 
Maeterlinck  may  also  wish  to  demonstrate  that  some 
natures  are  too  coarse  to  grasp  the  finer  and  more 
spiritual  things  of  life.  "Reality  itself,  in  the  pro- 
foundes  meaning  of  the  word,  is  reached  by  the 
combined  and  progressive  development  of  science 
and  philosophy." 


1  HE  SEVEN  PRINCESSES 

THE  next  play  is  The  Seven  Princesses. 
Here  again  death  comes  unheralded,  and 
making  no  impression  upon  the  minds  of 
the  dear  ones  who  surround  the  dying  Ur- 
sula.    But  her  death  is   quite   unlike   that  of  the 
other    two,    for    they    passed    away    in    full    con- 
sciousness,  whilst  she  slips  quietly  away  in  sleep. 
She    does    not    stir,    she    does    not   move.       It    is 
with  shock  that  her  companions  discover  that  she 
IS  sleeping  the  eternal  sleep,  and  will  no  more  awak- 
en in  the  physical  body.     It  is  a  beautiful  ending,  and 
far  more  pleasant  than  either  of  the  other  deaths.    In 
the  first  the  life  went  out  in  the  throes  of  mortal 
agony;   in  the  second,  the  priest  answered  the  call  in 
the  heat  of  the  day,  and  laid  down  his  burden,  just 
as  he  was  about  to  seek  water  to  minister  to  the 
physical  needs  of  his  little  Bock;  in  this  play  Ursula 
slips  quietly  away  whilst  those  who  loved  her  sur- 
round, and  the  fact  that  she  is  gone  comes  with 
startling  horror.     The  fourth  death  is  the  terrible 
Struggle  of  little  Tintagiles.     It  is  a  death  of  bold, 
hard,   uncompromising  realism.     There  is  nothing 
peaceful,  nothing  hopeful.    Each  of  the  others  has 
had  some  beautiful  symbolism,  some  suggestion  of 
hope.     But  with  Tintagiles  there  is  nothing  but  Pa- 
ganism, the  fiat  that  death  ends  all.     There  is  not 
even  the  promise  of  perpetuity,  and  immortality  by 
living  in  the  thoughts  of  dear  ones  left  behind,  or 

57 


58 


The  Psychology  of  Maeterlinck 


of  continuity  by  furnishing  sustenance  to  the  "roots 
of  plants,"— as  in  The  Blue  Bird.  Some  people 
have  found  an  Aesthetic  Joy  in  cremation  because  they 
consider  that  the  gas  so  generated  will  add  its  share, 
be  it  ever  so  small  an  amount,  to  give  coloring  to  a 
beautiful  sunset  at  close  of  day.  There  admittedly 
is  an  aesthetic  beauty  in  such  conceptions  which  ap- 
peals to  many.  But  Tintagiles  seems  to  stand  for 
the  doctrine  of  total  annihilation.  When  the  life 
departs,  the  soulflame  is  as  completely  snuffed  out  as 
when  one  extinguishes  the  candle  in  the  sconce. 

Each  of  these  c^eaths  is  surcharged  with  emotion, 
and  grips  us  in  its  thrall.  The  group  are  wonderful 
physiological  and  psychological  studies  of  this  phase 
of  life,  and  stamp  Maeterlinck  as  a  man  of  much 
careful  observation  and  accuracy  of  record.  "Among 
living  writers,"  says  Dr.  Otto  Heller,  "Pierre  Loti 
and  Maurice  Maeterlinck,  by  an  almost  hypnotic 
power,  communicate  to  the  reader  their  own  minor- 
key  temper  of  mind." 

This  play  belongs  distinctly  in  the  realm  of  the 
aesthetic.  It  is  like  a  Rembrandt  painting.  It  is 
as  discerning  and  as  accurate  as  the  famous  School 
of  Anatomy.  Maeterlinck  is  a  vivisector  of  the 
emotions,  and  his  hand  never  trembles  even  tho  the 
subject  flinch  beneath  the  scalpel.  Quivering  hu- 
manity does  not  affect  his  sensibilities.  He  continues 
relentlessly  to  lay  bare  the  inmost  secrets  of  the  work- 
ing of  the  brain  of  man.  There  is  nothing  hidden 
from  his  keen  scrutiny.  Every  thought  and  act  in 
life  are  but  material  for  his  indefatigable  research. 

The  contrasts  in  tone  of  the  two  sides  of  the  stage- 
picture  in  this  play  are  unique  and  impressive.    Mae- 


The  Seven  Princesses 


59 


tcrlinck  belongs  to  the  school  of  painters  who  pay  at- 
tention to  the  shadows,  and  by  contrasting  them  with 
the  sunlight  attain  their  wonderful  naturalistic  ef- 
fects. Such  artists  do  not  paint  objects  of  nature  in 
their  normal  colorings,  but  in  the  shadings  which 
seem  natural  according  to  the  contrasting  surround- 
ings. A  chair  which  is  actually  painted  red,  may 
seem  brown  as  one  gazes  upon  it  in  its  setting  in 
the  drawing-room.  The  old  school  of  painters  en- 
deavored to  paint  sunshine.  How  impossible  was 
the  task  is  evident  if  we  consider  Kirschmann's  sta- 
tistics, in  which  he  claims  that  "the  brightest  spot  of 
any  painting  is  never  more  than  sixty-six  times  bright- 
er than  the  darkest,  while  the  gray  sky  on  a  dull 
rainy  day  is  four  hundred  and  twenty  times  brighter 
than  a  white  painted  cross-bar." 

Such  was  the  former  method  of  the  dramatists, 
and  such  is  the  prevailing  method  in  melodrama.  We 
are  given  a  slice  of  serious  interest,  then  the  so-called 
"comedy  relief"  laid  on  with  a  calcimine-brush.  The 
bad  is  painted  in  black,  the  good  in  brilliant  hues, 
each  character  having  lines  of  symbolic  hue  which 
vividly  represent  the  psychological  mood— if  such  a 
term  can  be  applied  to  such  crude  work.  That  type 
of  dramatic  composition  appeals  to  persons  of  prim- 
itive emotions,  those  who  still  revel  in  the  primary 
colors  for  personal  adornment. 

The  modern  dramatists  have  gotten  far  afield 
from  these  vivid  contrasts,  but  not  to  the  extent  of 
Maeterlinck,  who  is  of  the  new  school,— the  artists 
who  sketch  the  shadows,  and  allow  the  high  lights 
to  manage  themselves,  as  it  were. 

The  emotion  of  pure  joy  is  almost  impossible  to 


6o 


The  Psycholoj^y  of  Mat  tcrlinck 


depict.  No  matter  how  clever  the  playtr,  one  al- 
ways feels  a  lack,  and  that  the  tonic-note  has  not 
been  sounded.  There  is  a  hollow,  off-key  ling,  which 
is  dissonant.  On  the  othei  hand  the  emotion  ot  tear 
is  much  more  easily  attainable,  and  is  more  contagi- 
ous. Panic  is  one  of  the  most  easily  aroused  of  all 
the  emotions.  Let  some  one  gasp,  cry  our,  and  how 
quickly  will  the  contagion  of  alarm  and  fear  spread 
to  every  person  in  the  neighborhood!  The  long  list 
of  catastrophes  occurring  in  public  gatherings  be- 
cause of  contagious  fear  speak  for  themselves. 

The  phobia  of  darkness  is  one  of  the  earliest  of 
all  instincts.  It  h  said  that  Robert  Burns  was  al- 
ways terrified  when  left  alone  in  the  dark,  and  if  in 
the  open  would  keep  peering  nervously  ahead  in 
vain  search  for  ghostly  apparitions.  The  love  of 
light,  and  fear  of  darkness  is  characteristic  of  most 
animal-life.  So  Maeterlinck  takes  advantage  of  this 
fact,  and  plays  upon  the  feelings  of  horror  at  the 
shadows.  Such  horror  we  find  in  Macbeth  who 
cries,  "Hence,  horrible  Shadow  I  Unreal  mockery, 
hence !" 

To  the  right  of  the  picture  in  'Die  Seven  Prin- 
cesses, we  see  the  inevitable  lowlands  with  leaden, 
sluggish  canals  between,  and  a  few  scatterd  wind- 
mills. It  is  such  a  picture  as  Maeterlinck  had  gazed 
upon  in  his  youth.  For  Ghent,  as  you  know,  is  built 
on  forty  islands,  separated  by  canals,  and  connected 
by  over  two  hundred  and  fifty  bridges.  It  has  some- 
times been  called  The  Venice  of  the  North.  There 
are  fogs  and  mists  in  the  background,  and  a  shadowy 
man-of-war  looming  in  the  haze;  voices  of  sailors 
are  dimly  heard.     Is  not  that  an  awe-inspiring  vi- 


The  Seven  Princesses 


6i 


sion?     Nothing  is  more  horrible  than  such  awful 
shadows  and  voices  of  the  night. 

To  the  left  of  the  stage-picture,  is  a  room  of  the 
castle.  It  is  of  cold,  white  marble,  cracked,  yel- 
lowed and  stained  with  time.  An  ancient  lamp  with 
Hoating  wick  thrust  in  oil  gives  forth  a  smoky,  sickly 
illumination.  To  make  the  scene  still  more  forbid- 
ding and  foreboding,  we  learn  that  it  is  situated 
above  the  vaults  where  lie  buried  countless  kings  and 
queens!  On  one  side  of  this  room  are  seven,  cold, 
crumbling  marble  steps,  and,  as  our  eyes  become  ac- 
customed to  the  gloom,  we  can  see  seven  Princesses 
lying  each  upon  a  step,  their  fragile  bodies  shielded 
from  the  clammy,  dank  stone  by  thin  cushions  of 
maroon  velvet.  Their  little  feet  are  bare,  and  blue 
with  the  damp  cold.  Their  hair  streams  over  their 
shoulders,  enmeshing  them  as  with  a  golden  mist,  the 
one  real  ray  of  warmth  in  the  old  room. 

In  the  center  of  the  picture  is  a  marble  terrace, 
with  long  doors  and  windows,  separating  the  room 
to  the  left,  and  the  canals  and  marshes  to  the  right. 
On  this  terrace  stand  a  trembling,  shrivelled  old  man 
and  woman,  their  regal  robes  of  sovereignty  pitably 
unfitted  to  protect  the  wearers  from  the  penetrating 
chill  of  the  fast  approaching  night  and  the  long  "win- 
ter of  discontent."  They  are  all  awaiting  the  arrival 
of  the  handsome  Prince  who  is  to  marry  Ursula,  the 
central  one  of  the  seven  sleepers.  From  the  pro- 
tracted vigil  they  are  weary  and  distraught.  The 
maidens  have  fallen  asleep,  basking  in  the  dying  rays 
of  the  sun. 

"Like  our  shadows, 
Our  wishes  lengthen  as  our  sun  declines." 


62 


The  Psychology  of  Maeterlinck 


At  length  Marcellus  comes  and  ii>  warmly  greeted. 
But  even  in  that  moment  of  greeting,  we  hear  the 
shout  of  the  Sailors,  "The  Atlantic,  The  Atlantic,  we 
shall  return  no  more,"  and  are  filled  with  dread. 
There  is  something  uncanny  in  the  thought  of  vast- 
ness,  coldness,  and  unfathomable  depth  which  those 
words  conjure.  In  his  ability  to  stir  an  emotion  to 
its  depths  by  simple  words,  Maeterlinck  is  a  master 
psychologist.  He  seems  to  know  just  what  words 
will  arouse  us  most.  His  ability  is  that  of  some 
East  Indian  Seer  of  Necromancy. 

Now  our  attention  turns  from  the  group  upon  the 
terrace  to  the  seven  sleepers  stretched  upon  the  mar- 
ble steps  of  the  marble  chamber,— itself  so  sugges- 
tive of  the  tomb.  After  unavailing  efforts  to  awaken 
them,  Marcellus  steps  into  the  tombs  beneath,  and 
emerges  into  the  room  by  a  marble-slab  in  the  un- 
even floor.  One  by  one  the  titters  awaken  and  rise 
to  greet  him,  — all  but  one,  the  one  alone  for  whom 
the  young  man  has  eyes,  Ursula,  his  betrothed,  and 
slowly  we  realize  that  she  is  no  more  1 

"So  softly  death  succeeded  life  in  her, 

She  did  but  dream  of  heaven,  and  she  was  there." 


The  sisters  raise  her  upon  their  shoulders,  and 
slowly  begin  the  ascent  of  the  marble  steps,  bearing 
the  lifeless  form  to  the  old  folks  weeping  upon  the 
marble  platform  of  the  landing. 

It  is  a  beautiful  picture,  a  fragment  of  a  drama 
of  life,  and  yet  more  impressive  than  many  a  sermon. 
It  seems  to  be  founded  upon  the  Bible  Parable  of  the 
Virgins  who  slept  when  the  bridegroom  came,  and 


The  Seven  Princesses 


63 


rose  up  when  it  was  too  late.  It  seems  to  point  the 
moral  that  man  seeks  in  vain  for  the  realization  of 
his  hopes  and  happiness.  Death, — like  Banquo's 
ghost,— is  always  present  at  the  banquet,  and  will 
rise  up  with  horrible  grimace  and  grin  at  us  sardon- 
ically in  the  midst  of  our  vain  merriment. 

"Gravely  he  smiles, 
As  if  he  spoke  to  God,  though  but  to  me, 

To  me  who  cannot  answer  him  he  speaks, 
Me  who  have  no  possessions." 


i 


HOME 

THE  late  Master  of  Balliol,  Benjamin  Jow- 
ett,  has  said,  "By  mysticism  we  mean,  not 
the  extravagance  of  an  erring  fancy,  but 
the  concentration  of  reason  in  feeling,  the 
enthusiastic  love  of  the  good,  the  true,  the  one, 
the  sense  of  the  infinity  of  knowledge,  and  of 
the  marvel  of  the  human  faculties.  When  feed- 
ing upon  such  thoughts  the  "wing  of  the  soul  is  re- 
newed and  gains  strength,  she  is  raised  above  the 
manikins  of  earth"  and  their  opinions,  waiting  in 
wonder  to  know  and  working  with  reverence  to  find 
out  what  God  in  this  or  in  another  life  may  reveal 
to  her." 

The  above  paragraph  seems  to  aptly  apply  to  the 
play  called  L'Inteneiir,  which  is  translated  by  Rich- 
ard Hovey  under  the  title  Hume. 

The  one  English  writing  which  it  inevitably  recalls 
to  the  mind  is  the  closing  scene  of  Tennyson's  Enoch 
Jrdeti,  where  the  wanderer  returns  to  his  old  home 
and  garden,  and  stands  longingly  gazing  through  the 
window  upon  the  beautiful  picture  of  the  family,— 
his  wife,  his  children,  his  friend, — grouped  about 
the  hearthstone.  The  setting  is  just  that.  But  the 
one  who  enters  the  garden  is  an  old  man,  a  friend 
of  the  family,  and  he  has  come  thither  the  bearer  of 
the  saddest  of  all  possible  tidings  to  those  who  sit 
so  happily  within  the  enclosing  walls  of  "home." 
Safe  they  seem  from  all  intrusion,  and  yet  there  is 
fast  approaching,  the  footsteps  already  heard  in  the 

64 


Home 


65 


distance,  the  one  intruder  against  whom  we  cannot 
bar  our  doors,  the  one  who  is  always  at  our  elbow, 
Death.  He  has  come  and  reaped  the  flower  of 
the  family,  the  fairest  of  the  daughters,  and  now  the 
old  man,  in  grim  contrast  to  the  young  child  whose 
lifeless  form  is  being  borne  up  the  hill,  stands  stag- 
gered without  the  warm  rays  of  the  window,  hesi- 
tant how  to  break  the  news  to  the  happy  family  cir- 
cle. The  Stranger  at  his  elbow  urges  the  need  of 
haste,  whilst  the  two  grandchildren,  swayed  by  the 
sentiment  of  pity,  urge  delay.  But  Death  knows 
nought  of  delay,  and  the  steady  tramp  of  the  bearers 
comes  nearer  and  nearer.  At  last,  when  procrastina- 
tion can  no  longer  prevail,  the  old  man  steps  within 
the  threshold,  and  instantly  we  see  the  heart-rending 
scene  of  the  broken  household. 

The  play  is  one  of  the  most  exact  transcriptions  of 
human  life  that  Maeterlinck  has  ever  produced.  It 
is  extreme  realism  laid  on  in  all  its  hideous  shadings. 
There  is  no  attempt  at  relief;  just  the  horrible  con- 
trasMng  of  light  and  darkness,  with  greater  atten- 
tion paid  to  the  shadows;  the  light  seems  more  in- 
tense, the  home  more  happy  because  of  the  misery 
which  is  awaiting.  The  hesitant,  uneasy  mind 
of  the  old  man  is  carefully  drawn,  and  reflects  the 
senility  of  the  aged.  Carefully  sketched  are  the 
childish  dispositions  of  the  two  grandchildren,  curi- 
ous to  know  the  effect  which  the  sad  intelligence  will 
produce  upon  the  little  family;  and  then  the  terror 
which  confronts  them  at  the  possibilities  which  the 
thought  raises,  and  the  supplications  to  procrastinate; 
then  their  overpowering  curiosity  to  see  for  them- 
selves the  painful  scene  when  the  Mother  looks  upon 


!'! 


i   , 


66 


The  Psychology  of  Maeterlinck 


the  upturned  face  of  her  dead  daughter.  Primitive 
curiosity  which  man  shares  with  the  animals,  impels 
them,  in  spite  of  their  fears,  to  run  to  the  front  of  the 
house  and  mingle  with  the  curious  throng  of  villagers 
gathering  there. 

Even  the  final  line,  which  is  uttered  by  the 
Stranger,  "The  child  has  not  waked,"  shows  Maeter- 
linck's masterhand,  and  his  fondness  of  contrasting 
the  turbulent  with  the  peaceful.  It  is  a  true  pleas- 
ure-pain emotional  state  viewed  from  the  opposite 
extremes.  It  is  a  rare  touch  of  realism.  In  the  midst 
of  all  this  woe  and  misery,  the  little  babe  sleeps 
peacefully  on,  oblivious  of  the  horrible  event  which 
has  come  into  its  home-circle. 

Maeterlinck  has  in  this  play  set  forth  his  purpose 
and  views  of  life  in  plain  light,  and  his  thesis  seems 
to  agree  with  Lao-tsze,  the  great  Chinese  Philosopher 
who  lived  about  604  B.  C,  who  said,  "My  religion 
is  to  think  the  unthinkable  thought,  to  speak  the  in- 
effable word,  to  do  the  impossible  deed,  to  walk  the 
impassible  way." 


II 


i 


THE  BLUE  BIRD 

THE  BLUE  BIRD  is  one  of  the  most  ad- 
mirable and  consistent  studies  of  natural 
dream  psychology  which  exists  in  modern 
literature.    This  fact,  unfortunately,  has 
been    quite    overlooked    by   philosophers    who    are 
ever  anxious  to  find  some  fresh  interpretation  of  the 
philosophy  and  ethics  of  its  teachings,  and  do  not 
seem  to  be  impressed  with  the  perfect  harmony  which 
exists  between  the  life  moving  about  the  sleeping 
children,  and  which  make  their  impressions  upon  the 
subconscious  senses  and  are  reflected  in  figments  of 
imagination,  which  form  themselves  into  a  remark- 
ab  !e  fabric  of  dream.     The  philosophy  of  the  scenes, 
the  language,  is  above  the  intelligence  of  these  un- 
educated,  tender  children,  but  it  is  not  incompatible 
with  the  dream,  for  it  is  only  used  by  the  author  to 
paint  the  canvas  of  the  various  pictures;   it  is,  as  h 
were,  the  scenic  background  of  the  dream.  But  one  in 
a  dream  often  gives  expression  to  thoughts  which 
seem  elegant  and  impressive,  and  which  may  or  may 
not  be  beyond  the  comprehension  of  the  subject,  and 
yet  which  thoughts,  if  committed  to  paper,  will  in 
the  waking  existence  seem  far  less  potential,  and,  in- 
deed, most  frequently  are  idiotic.     "Only  when  we 
are  not  concerned  with  action,  in  a  reverie,  or  in 
dreaming,  do  we  seem  to  plunge  into  the  land  of 
memory  for  its  own  sake,  though  even  then  our  mem- 
ory is  suggested  by  elements  in  the  present." 
The  obtrusion  of  this  deep  philosophy,  therefore, 

67 


iY 


68 


The  Psychology  of  Maeterlinck 


is  not  a  blemish,  but  an  adornment  justified  from 
philosophic  and  aesthetic  points  of  view.  It  makes 
the  play  delightful  to  the  most  erudite  student,  and 
quite  as  enjoyable  and  comprehensible  to  the  most 
unsophisticated  little  child  who  ever  delightedly  en- 
joyed its  performance.  The  ability  of  Maeterlinck 
to  appeal  to  these  widely  divergent  types  stamps  him 
as  supreme  among  dramatists  and  entitles  him  to  all 
the  praise  and  encomiums  which  have  been  lavished 
upon  him  by  applauding  critics.  In  studying  The 
Blue  Bird,  one  will  find  much  interest  in  comparing 
with  it  Gerhart  Hauptmann's  remarkable  dream 
play,  Hanneles  Himmelfahrt,  which  is  the  dream  of 
a  child  in  delirium,  and  contrasting  it  with  the  dreams 
of  these  children  in  normal  sleep. 

Of  all  Maeterlinck's  plays,  the  most  discussed  is 
The  Blue  Bird.  It  is  widely  proclaimed  as  a  "drama 
of  happiness,"  and  its  moral  is  avowed  to  be  that  we 
"oft  gan'  astray"  seeking  pleasure  and  wealth  when 
these  lie  at  our  hand  if  only  we  will  open  our  spiritual 
eyes  and  behold.  Yet  not  so  long  since  at  an  inter- 
pretation of  the  symbolism  of  this  play,  one  in  the 
audience  remarked  that  altho  the  doctrine  was  that 
the  blue  bird  lived  in  the  children's  own  home,  yet 
when  they  gave  the  bird  to  the  little  sick  child  they 
gave  away  their  very  last  spark  of  happiness  and 
joy.  That  suggestion  but  completes  the  contention 
of  the  opposing  faction  who  claim  that  if  Light  rep- 
resents knowledge,  arnl  Mother  Night  stands  for 
ignorance,  it  is  indeed  a  somber  picture.  Even  the 
countless  blue  birds  which  flutter  in  the  Kingdom  of 
Night  are  scattered  and  slain  when  day  dawns.  Pes- 
simism, too,  rules  supreme  in  the  Land  of  Memory, 


The  Blue  Bird 


69 


where  the  dead  hve  only  when  the  living  pause  to 
^mk  of  the  dear-one,  beyond  the  gloomy  portaT 

tHne  If  r  '•"'"•'  ''"  °"^  •'"^^"^  *»»-"  the  doc- 
trine of  predestination  which  is  given  us  in  The  King- 
dom of  the  Future  ?    Think  of  the  innocent  chiK 

bi'rthT'T.'  r    T   °'  ""^^^   '-«  before   the ; 
b.rth!    Thmk  of  the  children  predestined  to  become 
cnm.nals;    to  destroy  their  fellowmeni     Think  of 
the  two  lovers  torn  from  each  other's  pure  embrace 
weepmg  and  sobbing,  and  the  only  comfortl  th"; 
he  one  promises,  "I  shall  be  the  saddest  thing  on 
earth,     replymg  to  the  comment,  "I  shall  be  gone 
before  she  comes  down."     Then  the  little  girl  cries, 
r  shall  never  see  h.m  again,"  and  the  little  fellow 
sobs,  "We  shall  be  all  alone  in  the  world!"     Th 
mdeed.  from  this  standpoint,  a  sorry  picture,  and 
happmess  is  not  in  its  midst. 

However,  let  us  begin  to  examine  it  from  the 
point  of  view  of  its  psychological  construction  of  a 
dream  and  see  what  a  marvelous  mind  has  woven 
Its  richly  embroidered  fabric.     It  is  human  life  In 

VictrHu'V  '^'^'  ''  '^'  ^"'"''^  ^"  Miserables  of 
The  psychology  of  Mother  and  Father  Love,  of 
filial  obedience  is  wonderfully  correct  and  admirable, 
and  the  opening  scene  is  one  of  rare  insight  and  ten- 
der beauty.  What  ,s  more  fascinating  than  the  pic- 
ture of  a  Mother  putting  her  little  ones  to  bed?  It 
reflects  the  very  basis  of  human  existence,  the  home, 
whid^  has  arisen  through  the  ages,  and  is  continued 
by  the  divinely  appointed  instinct  of  sclf-preserva- 
tion;  or,  we  might  be  more  concise  and  say  that  the 
parental  instinct  has  given  rise  to  what  is  termed  the 


!«•  ■ 


70 


The  Psychology  of  Maeterlinck 


Tender  Emotion. 

There  is  a  flaw  in  the  dramatic  incident  very  early 
in  this  opening  scene,  however,  for  it  is  not  clearly 
conveyed  to  the  reader  just  when  the  dream  begins, 
and  the  reality  ends.     When  the  play  is  acted,  the 
failure  of  the  dramatist  to  indicate  the  exact  point  of 
the  beginning  of  the  dream  is  not  quite  so  obvious, 
for  the  children  return  to  the  bed  several  times,  and 
are  there  when  Daddy  and  Mammy  Tyl  look  in  at 
them.    The  exit  in  quest  of  the  Blue  Bird  occurs  at 
the  very  end  of  the  scene.    There  seems  no  difficulty 
in  considering  as  reality  the  incident  of  the  two  chil- 
dren jumping  from  their  bed  and  peeking  between 
the  cracks  of  the  shutters  to  enjoy  the  pleasure  of 
the  children  of  wealth  in  the  great  house  across  the 
way.     The  psychology  is  well-drawn,  the  conversa- 
tion accurate,  and  the  contagious  emotion  of  pleasure 
is  well  reflected.     Even  the  babe,  as  Darwin  has 
demonstrated  to  us,  is  affected  by  this  emotion  of 
pleasure,  and  learns  to  smile  back  in  answer  to  the 
smile  bestowed  upon  it,  and  the  preservation  of  this 
delightful,  unsophisticated  charm  is  what  attracts  us 
to  many  individuals,  and  makes  them  necessary  to  our 
happiness  in  life.     But  the  children,  according  to  the 
text,  do  not  return  to  their  bed  before  the  arrival  of 
Fairy  Berylune,  so  we  must  assume  that  they  were 
so  sleepy  that  they  fell  asleep  upon  the  stool  gazing 
at  the  enjoyment  which  thfy  could  only  enjoy  as  a 
subjective  emotion,  and  that  they  subsequently  at- 
tained the  bed  in  a  half-awake,  half-asleep  condi- 
tion, or  else  were,  like  many  children  of  their  age, 
somnar-i^^ulists,  and  regained  the  bed  whilst  in  this 
comatose  condition.    The  Dream,  which  begins  at 


The  Blue  Bird 


71 


this  moment  and  continues  through  to  the  end  of  the 
play,  is  constructed  by  one  who  has  been  an  ardent 
student  of  the  psychology  of  the  Dream  State,  for  it 
IS  correct  to  the  minutest  detail 

I  here  is  a  very  interesting  doctrine  presented  in 
this  dream,-the  inter-relation  of  the  minds  of  the 
brother  and  sister.     As  the  boy  is  made  the  more 
important  character,  it  may  be  that  his  is  the  sug- 
gestive mind,  and   Mytyl's  the  suggestible,  or  the 
reverse  may  be  urged  with  much  stronger  reason. 
"  There  are  positive  dominating  personalities  whose 
mission  in  life  seems  to  be  to  influence  others,  and 
there  are  receptive,  passive  natures  which  readily 
yield  themselves  to  such  influence.     So,  in  the  sub- 
conscious realm,  some  persons  are  far  more  sugges- 
tible than  others."     It  is  normal  for  the  sister  to  be 
more  solicitous  of  the  comfort  and  welfare  of  little 
brother  than  the  reverse,  so  one  may  prefer  to  be- 
lieve that,  as  he  is  given  the  preference  in  the  dream 
as  in  the  waking  life,  and  as  she  is  somewhat  the 
elder,  that  she  is  the  one  whose  dream  state  com- 
municates by  telepathic  suggestion   its   features  to 
Tyltyl.     "Telepathy  is  the  normal  means  of  com- 
munication between  two  subjective  minds,  and  it  is 
only  between  subjective  minds  that  telepathy  can  be 
employed."     At  the  close  of  Act  Two  she   says, 
"Give  me  your  hand,  little  brother,"  as  if  taking  the 
initiative,  but  the  speech  concludes  with  the  admis- 
sion of  the  very  simplest,  the  very  first  emotion  with 
which  man  is  endowed,  that  of  fear,  and  she  con- 
fesses, "I  feel  so  frightened  and  so  cold."     This  last 
word  indicates  that  in  restless  tossing  the  child  had 
become    partially   uncovered,    and   that   the   bodily 


m 


;i 


72 


The  Psychology  of  Maeterlinck 


sense,  the  objective,  was  aware  of  coldness,  and  sug- 
gested this  line  to  the  sleeping  consciousness. 

The  presence  of  a  Fairy  in  the  dream,  is  the  most 
natural  of  all  things,  for  the  children  are  of  the  age 
when  they  are  most  fond  of  Fairy  Stories,  and  are 
wont  to  believe  in  such  things  as  "singing  grass," 
and  when  in  their  play  they  are  wont  to  speak  to 
flowers  and  even  believe  them  little  girls  and  little 
boys,  and  to  attribute  to  them  human  attributes  ac- 
cording to  their  own  attributes;  the  rose  will  be  a 
beautiful  lady  of  rank  and  wealth,  for  example.  Says 
G.  Stanley  Hall,  "Many  flowers,  too,  in  their  appear- 
ance suggest  birds  or  animals.  Some  have  all  the 
human  features;  the  pansy  is  a  little  face  to  almost 
everyone,  a  sweet  and  innocent  baby  face,  a  roguish 
child,  sly,  cute,  and  mischievous,  or  even  the  face 
of  a  cross  old  woman."  Then  Mr.  Hall  continues  to 
go  at  length  into  their  moral  attributes,  and  concludes 
with  this  sentence,  "In  all  these  many  ways,  too,  the 
appeal  in  adolescent  years  is  noticeably  much  fuller 
and  far  more  suggestive  in  the  case  of  girls  than  with 
boys."  We  can  continue  to  discuss  in  this  way  how 
the  common,  everyday  articles  of  food,  such  as  bread, 
sugar,  milk,  water,  may  become  personifled  as  gra- 
cious beings  who  are  philanthropists  like  the  Good 
Samaritan  of  Scripture,  and  minister  to  man's  daily 
needs.  What  more  natural  ihan  that  the  Golden 
Hours  should  be  beautiful  ladies?  It  is  customary 
for  children  to  think  of  their  pets  as  having  the  same 
attributes  as  themselves. 

Ralph  Waldo  Emerson  says : 

"A  subtle  chain  of  countless  rings, 
The  next  unto  the  farthest  brin^^; 


The  Blue  Bird 

And,  striving  to  be  man,  the  worm 
Mounts  through  A\  the  spires  of  form." 


73 


The  children  are,  of  course,  auherents  of  the  Ro- 
man Catholic  Church,  and  so  their  conceptions  of  the 
dunes  of  their  fireside  pets,  the  dog  and  cat,  are 
governed  accordingly.  It  is  Rt.  Rev.  John  Cuth- 
bert  Hedley,  Bishop  of  Newport  and  Minervia  who 
has  said,  "The  brute  cr  ation  have  only  one  purpose, 
and  that  is  to  minister  to  man,  or  to  man's  temporary 
abode." 

Rankling  in  Mytyl's  heart  was  the  fact  that  Tyltyl 
had  been  selfish  =»nd  refused  that  day  to  give  his  lit- 
tle bird  to  the  sick  child  who  had  taken  a  fancy  for 
It,  and  who  had  used  that  bird  as  a  suggestive  means 
tor  her  own  recovery,  just  as  so  many  older  people 
make  a  fetish  with  the  curing  properties  of  bones  of 
samts,  or  of  handkerchiefs  which  have  been  suspend- 
ed over  St.  Petri's  Tomb  in  Rome.  To  this  disturb- 
mg  consciousness  we  must  attribute  the  real  basis  of 
the  dream. 

The  presence  of  Light  exists  in  the  brain  area  bt 
cause  the  light  from  across  the  street  is  playing 
through  the  shutters.  The  departure  of  carriages 
will  account  for  the  opening  and  closing  of  doors 
throughout  the  play,  as  in  the  Kingdom  of  Night, 
and  the  Kingdom  of  the  Future,  and  the  musical 
sounds  are  equally  well  accounted  for  by  the  orches- 
tra playing  in  the  house  across  the  way,  snatches  of 
which  music  keep  floating  into  the  bedchamber  and 
make  their  way  into  the  dreaming-brain  to  add  their 
modicum  to  the  dream-fabric.  The  diamond  on  the 
hat  may  be  a  surviving  remnant  of  a  Fairy  1  ale 


if- 


|r 

|! 


74 


The  Psychology  of  Maeterlinck 


which  had  recently  been  related  to  the  little  ones,  or 
may  have  been  suggested  by  a  bright  spot  on  the  wall, 
or  from  the  lamp  burning  above  the  table. 

The  presence  of  the  misty  veil  which  separated 
the  children  from  the  Land  of  Memory,  falls  into 
line  of  moral  teachings  which  had  been  given  to  the 
children  by  their  parents  or  the  village  priest,  and  is 
in  accord  with  Theological  Doctrine.       The  pres- 
ence of  the  hour  for  return  to  the  Fairy's  Palace  was 
evidently  suggested  by  the  hour  which  the  children 
awaken    each    day,    and    doubtless   the    house-clock 
sounded  eight-thirty  soon  after  they  had  fallen  into 
sleep.     There  are  two  suggestions  which  might  be 
advanced,  either  that  the  dream  is  divided  into  two 
portions  of  the  night,  the  first  occurring  before  the 
house-clock  had  sounded  the  hour  of  half  after  eight, 
and  ceasing  somewhat  later,  and  the  thread  being 
taken  up  in  the  morning  when  Mother  enters  the 
room.    The  opening  of  the  bedroom  door  would  be 
sufficient  to  suggest  the  return  from  a  journey,  and 
suggest  the  last  act  of  the  play.    Or,  one  may  place 
the  realm  of  the  entire  dream  within  the  few  final 
moments  before  the  complete  return  to  consciousness. 
Personally,  I  prefer  to  divide  the  dream  period  into 
two  portions,   for  that  better  allows  each  passing 
sound  to  have  its  place  in  suggestion  of  the  dream- 
fabric,  and  does  not  make  us  resort  to  an  explanation 
to  account  for  the  early  portion  being  retained  from 
the  impressions  of  the  early  night  when  they  had 
first  been  tucked  into  their  cot.     It  is  well  known  that 
"In  sleep— our  subconscious  mind  possesses  an  ap- 
preciation of  the  passage  of  time  which  our  conscious 
mind  cannot  approximate  and  of  which  at  present 


Tht  Blue  Bird 


75 


we  can  give  no  explanation." 

It  is  in  perfect  accord  with  Theological  Teachings 
that  the  dead,  "the  guests  of  God."  as  some  one  has 
so  beautifully  called  those  who  have  gone  before  us 
into  that  "undiscovered  country,  from  whose  bourn 
no  traveller  returns,"  are  with  us  when  we  think  of 
them,  arKl  that  we  can  meet  them  at  the  altar-rail  in 
the  solemn  act  of  communion.    This  doctrine  makes 
«t  very  natural  that  the  children  should  find  that  their 
deceased  grandparents  and  little  brothers  and  sisters 
awakened  when  they  came  to  visit  them,  and  that 
there  should  be  a  feast  spread  forth.    Then  it  is  the 
most  natural  thing  imaginable  that  the  feast  should 
be  such  as  the  children  had  been  wont  to  enjoy  when 
they  had  visited  at  the  tiny  cottage  of  the  old  folks 
That  the  bird  should  seem  to  be  the  long  sought  Blue 
Bird,  IS  quite  compatible  with  the  dream,  and  that 
It,  too,  should  prove  to  be  dead,  is  also  correct,  for 
even  in  dreams  the  mind  retains  as  facts  certain  con- 
ditions which  are  actual.    The  sense  of  this  portion 
of  the  dream  can  be  well-expressed  in  the  following 
quotation  from  Shelley's,  To  a  Skylark,- 

"We   look   before  and   after, 

And  pine  for  what  is  not, 
And   our  sincerest   laughter, 

With  some  pain  is  fraught." 

Coming  to  the  Palace  of  Night,  we  find  a  doctrine 
which  covers  the  discoveries  of  science  for  relief  and 
cure  of  mankind  before  which  "the  dark  shadows 
that  scare  the  soul  will  flee  away."  It  is  a  Kingdom 
into  which  Light  does  not  penetrate,  hence  the  rea- 
son for  the  existence  there  of  disease;  if  Light  had 


i      i 


76 


The  Psychology  of  Maeterlinck 


been  there,  Disease  would  have  flown  away.  So  if 
the  Blue  Bird  were  languishing  in  such  an  ill-abode, 
the  children  must  penetrate  alone.  It  is  typical  of 
the  many  diseases  of  childhood  which  they  must  suf- 
fer alone  despite  all  the  knowledge  of  materia  rr  jdi- 
ca,  and  from  which  they  must  work  out  their  own 
salvation.  There  is  nothing  in  the  teaching  of  Maet- 
erlinck here  to  make  us  call  him  morbid,  and  say  that 
the  play  is  gloomy.  It  only  metaphorically  presents 
conditions  which  are  real  in  the  world,  and  suggests 
that  the  coming  of  Knowledge  (Light),  will  finally 
conquer  all.  The  basis  of  this  portion  of  the  dream 
may  have  been  suggested  by  some  bodily  disturbance, 
— a  sneeze,  a  cough,  by  one  of  the  children,  or  even 
a  snore  may  have  suggested  the  rumbles  and  noises 
heard  in  the  dream  world.  The  blue  birds  flying  in 
the  heavens  were  stars,  and  their  presence  in  the 
dream  can  be  attributed  to  the  flicker  of  light-rays  on 
the  wall  of  the  room;  possibly  Mummy  Tyl  had 
looked  into  the  room  solicitous  because  the  children 
had  coughed  or  sneezed  in  their  sleep.  The  Cat  sug- 
gests concerning  the  Blue  Bird,  "I  see  him  there,  on 
that  moonbeam,"  so  one  is  justified  in  saying  that 
Mummy  Tyl  had  opened  the  door  and  peeked  in, 
causing  the  ray  of  light  to  shine  through,  which  sug- 
gested a  moon-beam  as  it  struck  upon  the  thin  skin 
of  the  eye-lids  closed  in  sleep.  The  Dog,  looking  at 
the  dead  birds,  inquires,  "Are  they  good  to  eat?"  A 
very  natural  question  for  a  dog  to  propound,  and 
very  easily  explicable  because  the  children  had  been 
enviously  watching  the  children  dining  in  the  house 
of  the  party,  and  there  was  vividly  present  the  emo- 
tion of  hunger,  a  pure  pleasure-pain  emotion. 


The  Blue  Bird 


77 


The  forest  -cing  arises  very  naturally,  consider- 
mg  that  Dade     >1  was  a  woodchopper,  and  the  hut 
Itself  in  the  fi    ,  e  of  a  forest.    We  need  not  again 
call  attention  to  the  naturalness  of  the  attributes  ac- 
credited  to  the  Trees,  nor  how  very  carefully  Maet- 
erlinck has  been  in  giving  to  each  the  most  natural 
characteristics,— the   oak,    for  example,   being  old, 
gnarled,  twisted  with  corns  (acorns)  on  his  ancient 
feet;  the  mistletoe  as  his  crown  is  natural,  because  it 
IS  a  parasite  of  that  tree;  and  his  gown  of  moss  and 
lichen  also  shows  Maeterlinck's  familiarity  with  Bot- 
any, and  indicates  that  the  children  were  endowed 
with  trained  eyes,  quite  natural  to  those  who  live  in 
the  midst  of  nature.    One  may  have  an  appreciation 
of  nature  from  a  purely  aesthetic  viewpoint,  but  if  he 
live  in  the  wilderness,  he  will  be  familiar  with  the  ap- 
pearance of  the  plants  and  trees,  the  birds  and  Bow- 
ers which  surround  him.    Altho  no  mention  is  made 
m  the  play,  the  fact  that  it  was  Christmas  Eve,— a 
time  when  all  impossible  things  are  supposed  to  be 
capable  of  occurring,— would  justify  us  in  supposing 
that  the  children  had  probably  been  that  day  into  the 
woods  gathering  mistletoe  either  for  their  own  hum- 
ble dwelling,  or  for  purposes  of  sale  to  richer  neigh- 
bors.   Again,  the  vision  of  the  Christmas  Party  with 
Its  Tree  and  the  greeneries  would  arise  in  the  dor- 
mant mind  and  become  fabric  for  a  dream.     When 
the  Cat  says  to  Tyltyl,  "Take  off  your  hat,  it's  the 
Oak,"  we  have  a  reminder  of  a  lesson  in  deportment 
which  had  been  suggested  to  Tyltyl  during  the  day, 
either  when  Neighbor  Berlingot  had  called  for  the 
bird,  or  when  the  children  were  selling  Christmas 
wreaths  and  garlands  from  door  to  door. 


I    u 


I    It 


iM 


78 


The  Psychology  of  Maeterlinck 


The  injury  to  self  by  striking  against  trees,  is  indic- 
ative of  "the  lowest  order  of  intelligence,  or  that 
stage  of  society  in  which  human  beings  are  physically 
least  removed  from  beasts.     In  proportion  as  they 
rise  in  the  scale  of  existence  and  unfold  their  mental 
faculties,  the  more  they  free  themselves  from  the 
tyranny  of  the  supernatural."     As  early  as   1808 
Gottfriend  Immanual  Wenzel  published  in  Vienna  a 
book  of  216  pages  entitled  Neue  auf  Vernunft  und 
Erfahrung     gegrijndete     Entdeckungen    iiber    die 
Sprache  der  Thiere  (New  discoveries  concerning  the 
Language  of  Animals,  Based  in  Reason  and  Exper- 
ience), in  which  he  claimed  that  the  lower  animals 
can  express  themselves  by  articulate  sounds  which 
may  be  understood  by  man  and  reduced  to  writing. 
So  the  ability  of  the  animals  to  hold  a  conference  and 
discuss  killing  the  children,  and  their  ability  to  under- 
stand them,  as  well  as  their  housepets,  does  not  offer 
any  new  doctrine,  nor  need  it  trouble  us  to  account 
for  the  presence  of  such  ideas  in  the  minds  of  the 
children.     But  Maeterlinck's  treatment  of  the  dia- 
logue of  the  animals  is  noteworthy,  and  shows  that 
he  is  an  earnest  and  careful  student  of  Zoopsycholo- 
gy, the  comparatively  new  science,  which  attempts  to 
analyse  the  "mental  traits  and  moral  qualities  of  the 
lower  animals, — not  merely  recording  as  curious  and 
comical   anecdotes,   but   systematically   investigating 
and  philosophically  explaining"  their  conduct.    The 
"hypocrisy"  of  the  cat  "is  a  trait  shown  by  all  weak 
animals  in  self-defense,"  according  to  Evans.     The 
Cat  again  shows  this  trait  u  the  very  end  of  the  play; 
indeed,  it  is  a  prominent  characteristic  of  this  animal 
from   Maeterlinck's  viewpoint.     If  I  may  be  par- 


The  Blue  Bird 


79 


doned  still  another  reference  to  Mr.  Evans'  scholarly 
book,  I  will  quote  a  paragraph  which  summarizes  the 
Cat  and  Dog  far  better  than  I  can  do.  He  says,  "Of 
all  domestic  animals  the  cat  was  the  most  difficult  to 
tame,  and  it  needed  the  patience  and  persistence  so 
strongly  characteristic  of  the  ancient  Egyptians,  sus- 
tained by  religious  superstition,  in  order  to  accom- 
plish this  result.  Even  now  the  cat,  altho  extremely 
fond  of  Its  home  and  capable  of  considerable  attach- 
ment to  persons,  has  never  been  reduced  to  strict  serv- 
itude and  become  the  valet  of  man  like  the  dog,  but 
has  always  remained  to  a  certain  degree  what  it  orig- 
inally was,  a  prowling  beast  of  prey." 

The  symbolic  diamond  which  Tyltyl  wears  in  his 
hat  represents  the  imagination  of  childhood  which 
m  Its  adolescence  gives  personality  to  abstract  things, 
as  we  have  alr.^ady  discussed  at  sufficient  length,  and 
mto  which  Mr.  G.  Stanley  Hall  goes  in  such  exhaust- 
ing detail  m  his  valuable  volumes  on  Adolescence. 

I  am  somewhat  at  a  loss  to  find  just  why  the  Au- 
thor inserts  where  he  does  the  Scene  in  the  Grave- 
yard.     It  would  seem  as  if  this  should  have  been 
placed  before  the  Land  of  Memory,  so  that  the  tri- 
umphant cry,  'There  are  no  dead  I"  would  be  an- 
swered by  the  explanation  that  "They  live  always  in 
our  memory."     This  scene,  and  its  complement.  The 
Land  of  Memory,  can  be  taken  as  reflective  of  the 
words  of  Spinoza,  "The  mind  cannot  be  absolutely 
destroyed  with  the  body,  but  somewhat  of  it  remains 
which  is  eternal.     There  arc  rare  minds,  of  which 
the  principal  part  is  eternal,  so  that  they  have  scarce 
anything  to  fear  from  death."     It  is  the  most  beau- 
tifully conceived  scene,  from  an  aesthetic  standpoint, 


It 


80 


The  Psychology  of  Maeterlinck 


m  the  entire  play.  The  dialogue  of  the  children  is 
interesting,  for  it  summarizes  many  of  the  supersti- 
tions current  among  peasantry  concerning  death  and 
the  grave.  The  old  superstition,  which  still  persists 
m  these  enlightened  days  and  makes  even  the  most 
mtellcctual  of  us  shudder  when  we  pass  a  graveyard 
at  night-time,  that  the  dead  come  forth  and  walk 
about  when  the  clock  strikes  midnight,  is  present;  and 
an  earlier  one.  that  the  dead  "eat  roots."  It  is  an 
amusingchildhood  explanation  that  why  the  dead  walk 
only  at  night  is  "Because  they  are  in  their  shirts." 
The  blossoming  forth  of  glorious  flowers  reflects  the 
aesthetic  doctrine  of  immortality,  that  we  exist 
through  propagation  of  other  forms  of  life,  our 
chemical  properties  entering  into  the  compostion  of 
the  plants  which  draw  their  sustenance  from  our  de- 
caying frames.  It  is  beautifully  propounded,  but  the 
paganism  is  writ  plain  and  "he  may  run  that  read- 
eth." 

The  Kingdom  of  the  Future  puzzles  somewhat 
because  it  seems  misplaced.  If  we  shift  the  posi- 
tion of  the  Scene  in  the  Graveyard  as  suggested,  it 
offers  less  obstacles  to  the  flow  of  the  dream-thought 
in  logical  sequence.  But,  as  dreams  are  not  always 
logical  in  action,  the  author  may  purposely  have 
made  the  arrangement  which  he  has.  The  idea  that 
babies  come  from  heaven  is  the  most  natural  of  all 
conceptions  to  fill  the  child  consciousness.  Fither  the 
laughter  of  the  children  across  the  way,  or  the  recol- 
lected vision  of  the  dolls  and  the  tree,  furnished  forth 
the  material  for  this  phase  of  the  dream.  I  have 
already  spoken  of  its  melancholy  features  from  a 
philosophical  standpoint,  and  its  perfect  accord  with 


The  Blue  Bird  g, 

the  Theological  conceptions  of  predestination.     In- 
deed,  these  conceptions  are  psychological  and  gener- 
ally accepted  by  teachers  of  psychology.     It  is  a  doc- 
tnne  which  ,n  its  ideas  is  repulsive  to  many,  and 
from  which  all  of  us  fain  would  escape.     Again  I 
resort  to  quoting  from  Mr.  Evans.   "There  is  no  such 
thmg  as  free  agency.-     The  fact  that  mental  ac 
t.ons  are  unforseeable  is  no  proof  that  they  are  not 
fixed  and  mevitable."     Again  he  says,  "What  a  man 
may  will  to  do,  when  acted  upon  by  certain  induce- 
ments  or  temptations,  was  prearranged  long  before 
h.s  b.rth,  not  by  the  arbitrary  decree  of  a  vindictive 
deity,  but  by  prenatal  influences  and  hereditary  ten- 
dencies,  facts  of  organization  which  may  be  subse- 
quently modified  by  the  social  and  moral  environ- 
ment into  which  he  is  born,  and  the  effects  of  early 
education."  ^ 

In  this  Land  of  Hope,  Light  finds  the  Blue  Bird 
and  conceals  it  beneath  her  cloak,  and  the  children 
now  come  back  to  the  door  of  their  own  tiny  home. 
!p  , ''^  ^'""^^^y  suggested,  the  entrance  of  Mum- 
my Tyl  to  awaken  the  children,  brought  to  mind  the 
final  fabric  of  the  Dream.    The  opening  of  the  bed- 
room door  suggested  the  green  house-door;    the  ac- 
tual squabble  of  the  cat  and  dog  on  the  hearth  mat 
suggested   the   final   conflict  between   these   ancient 
foes;   the  recollection  in  the  subconscious  of  the  ris- 
ing hour  suggested  the  remark  of  Light  concerning 
the  opening  of  the  door,  "The  door  will  not  open 
till  the  hour  strikes."     The  children  are  already  half- 
awake,  and  beginning  to  feel  that  they  must  awaken, 
and  the  figures  in  the  dream  begin  to  grow  hazy  and 
to  disappear. 


82 


The  Psychology  of  Maeterlinck 


And  now  we  leave  the  dream  portion  of  the  play 
for  the  actual  humdrum,  every-day  existence  of  the 
peasant  children.  Mummy  Tyl  enters  and  awakens 
them  with  a  kiss,— the  very  kiss  which  suggested  the 

goodbye"  of  Light  as  she  dismissed  them  from  the 
world  of  dreams  to  the  land  of  reality.  They  awak- 
en still  heavy  with  the  vividness  of  the  dre.im,  hardly 
able  to  take  up  their  existence  again,  and,  as  objects 
seem  to  one  who  has  just  returned  from  a  long 
journey,  more  beautiful,  more  bright,  and  with 
unappreciated  qualities,  so  their  home  seems  to 
;hem.     "After    ten    years'    absence,"    says    Ribot, 

an  object,  a  monument,  is  seen  the  sam*-, 
^ut  ^t  ,s  not  felt  the  same,  it  is  not  the 
faculty  of  perceiving  which  has  changed,  but  its 
accom^.^^lme«^"  It  is  a  very  natural  experience  in 
the  life  of  childhood,  and  one  which  persists  into 
more  advanced  years.  It  is,  no  doubt,  to  be  ac- 
counted for  in  the  James-Lange  Theory,  that  rest 
and  sleep  have  furnished  so  much  renewed  vitality 
and  tinfrling  sense  of  health,  that  the  mind  catches 
tftc  influence  of  the  bodily  emotion,  and  colors  the 
surrmindings  with  the  same  intense  sense  of  well-be- 
ing    id  pleasure. 

"  ne  children  begin  babbling  their  dream-experi- 
em  -s  and  the  simple  peasant  mother  believes  them 
po^^scssed  of  some  evil  spirit,  and  then  tries  to  find 
a  ^turalsolution,-"Daddy's  brandy  bottle."  When 
Neighbor  Bcrlingot  enters  they  immediately  believe 
that  they  see  the  Fairy,  for  the  subconscious  had  re- 
tained this  image  and  made  it  into  a  benign  being  in 
the  dream,  and  so,  the  children  greet  her  as  such. 
This  carrying  over  of  dream  ideas  into  the  waking 


The  Blue  Bird 


83 


Ife  ,s  not  at  all  unusual  In  the  case  of  those  sud- 
denly awakened  from  slumber.  Who  is  there  who 
has  not  awakened  confused  as  to  the  day  of  the 
week,  or  even  where  he  may  be.  or  how  he  came  to 
be  m  that  particular  place?  It  is  typical  of  the  diffi- 
culty w.th  which  the  personality  sometimes  re-enters 
the  mmd  ind  takes  hold  of  the  rudder  to  steer  its 
course,  [t  ,s  also  the  reason  why  it  is  so  simple  for 
fhe  personality  to  become  separated  from  the  phvs- 
.cal  dunng  the  state  which  we  call  "sleep,"  that  pecu- 
liar physical  state,  which  makes  children  ask,  "Mam- 
ma, where  are  we  when  we  are  asleep?" 

That  the  subconscious  affects  us  during  sleep,  and 
carries  such  affect  over  into  our  waking  hours  as  post- 
si.ggest.on.  Maeterlinck  makes  the  child  see  that  the 
bird  .n  the  cage  Is  blue.    The  color  had  never  before 
made  such  a  distinct  Impression    upon    the    child's 
mmd.    He  knew  blue  as  blue  in  an  abstract  sense,  but 
not  m  all  ,ts  variations  and  shadings  which  closely  ap- 
proach other  colors,  and  so  now  for  the  first  time  he 
realizes   that   the   turtle-dove,   which   he  may  have 
thought  of  as  grey.  If  he  ever  named  the  color  at  all 
>s  blue.     It  .s  a  very  Interesting  psychological  Idea 
which  ,s    .nterposed    here,    and    worthy    of    much 
thought.     It  shows  the  part    that    the    subconscious 
plays  in  education,  and  explains  why  one  may  study 
ong  and  not  seem  to  comprehend  a  subject  sufficient- 
ly fo  make  It  of  practical  use.  and  then,  suddenly, 
have  the  full  knowledge  and  value  burst  forth  as  tho 
by  magic.   It  is  highly  probable  that  the  children  had 
been  studying  the  primary  colors  as  part  of  their  edu- 
cation   or  had  been  impressed  with  the  colors  In  na- 
ture the  preceding  day,  and  this  Imoresslon  had  gone 


v'   ' 


84 


The  Psychology  of  Maeterlinck 


with  them  into  sleep,  and  upon  awaking  exists  in 
discriminating  power.  Plato  has  said,  "It  cannot  be 
put  into  words  as  can  other  inquiries,  but  after  long 
intercourse  with  the  thing  itself  and  after  it  has  been 
lived  with,  suddenly,  as  when  the  fire  leaps  up  and 
the  light  kindles,  it  is  found  in  the  soul  and  feeds  it- 
self there." 

The  giving  of  the  bird  to  the  little  sick  girl  is  for 
me  the  most  beautiful  moment  in  the  whole  play,  for 
It  teaches  the  Golden  Rule  in  its  quiet  simplicity,  and 
teaches  us  that  we  are  not  happy  in  selfish  enjoyment, 
but  that  as  we  share  what  we  have  which  gives  us 
happiness,  we  ourselves  become  richer  and  happier, 
knowing  that  we  have  made  others  happier.     It  is  a 
well-established   psychological   doctrine   propounded 
by  Spinoza,  "every  advance  toward  perfection  gives 
us  happiness."     Another  well-taken  point  is  the  in- 
troduction of  the  little  sick  girl,  and  the  intense  af- 
fection which  Tyltyl  feels  for  her  as  a  result  of  his 
kind  act,  for  it  is  a  settled  rule  that  the  benefactor 
rather  than  the  benefacted,  is  the  one  who  loves  the 
more  intensely,  and  that  if  we  dislike  a  person,  the 
surest  way  of  changing  our  sentiment  is  by  doing  a 
good  turn  for  that  person. 

I  have  not  discussed  the  Land  of  Happiness  which 
Maeterlinck  inserted  after  the  play  had  been  per- 
formed for  some  considerable  time,  and  which  has 
been  substituted  for  the  Forest  Scene.     The  scene  is 
exquisitely  beautiful,  and  of  strong  aesthetic  appeal 
The  speech  of  the  glorified  Mother  concerning  the 
attributes  of  Mother-love,  is  a  gem.      It  is  a  scene 
which  delights  eye  and  ear,  but  it  is  out  of  tone  with 
the  play  regarded  as  a  well-constructed  dream.   Love 


The  Blue  Bird 


85 


of  Mother  would  bnng  that  character  in  naturally, 
and  her  speech  js  but  a  beautifully  phrased  summary 
of  filial  love  and  obedience,  so  not  beyond  plausibility 
as  a  dream  epoch  in  children  of  such  tender  years 
But  the  personification  of  Happiness,  and  the  dis- 
cnminat.on  between  the  small,  familiar  happinesses 
and  the  deep,  philosophically  conceived  happiness  of 
Justice.     Benevolence,    Truth,     "pale    shadows    of 
the    exercise    of    abstract    thought."    could    only 
he     experienced     by     the     most     philosophical     of 
metaphysicians.      "Under     this     last     form     it     is 
the     type     to     which     all     other     emotions     ap- 
proximate, when  the  effective  element  is  impover^ 
.shed— VIZ.,  moral  emotion  in  rationalistic  theorists 
(the  Stoics.  Kant),  aesthetic  emotion  in  critics,  and 
religious   emotion   in   metaphysicians   and   dogmatic 
theologians. 

It  seems  a  shame  to  draw  from  so  ponderous  a 
philosopher  as  Spinoza  to  interpret  this  ethereal  de- 
Imeation    yet  the  philosophy  of  Maeterlinck  as  ex- 
omplified  m  The  Blue  Bird  cannot  be  better  summar- 
i?;ed.     It  IS  this.— "Every  advance  toward  perfection 
gives  us  happiness,  and  it  is  safe  to  say  that  the  buoy- 
ancy  which  characterizes  contemporary  thought,  the 
hopeful  outlook  amid  all  dangers  that  threaten  us 
the  sense  of  the  added  cubit  to  man's  stature,  are  due 
largely  to  the  recognition  of  powers  for  good  within 
his  soul  of  which  he  was  not  formerly  aware." 


AGLAVAINE  AND  SELYSETTE 

AS  the  Blue  Bird  in  that  play  is  the  symbol 
of  happiness,  the  Green  Bird  in  Aglavainc 
and  Selysftie  is  symbolical  of  the  incvita- 
able  jealousy  which  creeps  into  the  heart 
of  the  wife  when  the  other  woman.  Aglavaine,  is  in- 
troduced into  the  intimate  relations  of  the  family 
circle. 

Jealousy  is  one  of  the  complex  emotions,  the  main 
ingredient  of  which  is  anger,  natural  resentment,  the 
fierceness  which  an  animal  experiences  when  par- 
tiality is  bestowed  upon  one  of  the  little  brood.  The 
particular  phase  of  this  emotion  with  which  Sch'sctte 
is  afflicted,  is  sexual  jealousy,  which  is  very  closely 
connected  with  the  instinct  which  we  term  "female 
coyness."  This  again  resolves  itself  into  the  feeling 
of  egoism,  self-feeling.  Meleander  was  her  own,  her 
god  about  whom  revolved  her  little  world.  To  make 
him  happy  was  her  one  ambition  in  life.  She  is  a 
simple,  unsophisticated  child,  with  all  the  pettish 
moods  of  pampered  childhood,  at  the  hour  of  bud- 
ding maturity,  and  her  whims  show  the  stages  of 
adolescence  with  their  first  appreciation  of  sex  and  its 
powers  of  appeal.  She  was  so  completely  self-cen- 
tered, so  sure  of  the  afifections  of  her  husband,  that 
any  idea  of  his  loving  another  never  occupied  her 
thoughts,  and  hence  she  displayed  absolutely  no  inter- 
est in  his  correspondence  with  their  sister-in-law,  Ag- 
lavaine. 

Aglavaine  was  not  an  adventuress,  but  a  woman  of 
intellectual  height  with  Meleander.    They  were  men- 

9^ 


Aglavaim  and  Selysette 


«7 


tal  affinities,  the  one  the  complement  of  the  other  an 
inspiration  to  higher  ideals.  Selysette  was  only  a 
pastime  to  Mcleander,  but  Aglavainc  was  his  reli- 
gion. She  came  to  the  shelter  of  this  house  prompted 
by  a  weak  will  rather  than  with  any  designing  intent. 
In  the  hour  of  her  sorrow,  and  when  she  needed 
counsel,  she  turned  most  naturally  to  the  brother-in- 
law  who  had  so  long  corresponded  with  her,  for  the 
advice  and  comfort  which  she  most  required.  The 
possibility  of  upsetting  the  household  never  crossed 
her  mind.  It  never  occurred  to  her  that  she  should 
be  the  cause  of  jealousy  on  the  part  of  the  wife.  This 
is  the  thesis  which  Maeterlinck  proceeds  to  expound. 
It  is  this  theory  which  has  given  rise  to  the  myriads 
of  triangle-plays  of  the  last  decade.  It  is  the  thesis 
of  the  impossibility  of  reconciling  the  polygamous 
physiology  of  man  with  the  monogamatic  demands 
of  woman. 

Little  Selysette  welcomes  her  as  a  sister,  and  is  not 
pained  by  the  joyful  kisses  which  Aglavaine  bestows 
at  random  on  the  entire  household.  Osculation  is  a 
mania  with  Aglavaine,  from  which  she  cannot  escape. 
Doubtless  it  typifies  the  sexual  emotion,  the  parental 
instinct,  which  is  at  the  basis  and  the  exciting  cause  of 
the  tender  emotion.  She  is  overflowing  with  health 
and  vitality,  her  mind  free  from  evil  intent,  and  as 
an  over-exuberant  juvenile,  fresh  from  school,  with 
vacation  and  long  hours  of  play  ahead,  she  embraces 
and  kisses  everyone  in  sight.  Such  is  her  disposition. 
And  it  is  that  very  disposition  which  lets  loose  the 
Green  Bird,  which  in  later  acts  we  see  fluttering 
around  the  castle  turret,  and  which  Selysette  endeav- 
ors to  catch. 


m 


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MICROCOPY    RESOLUTIOM    TEST    CHART 

ANSI  and  ISO  TEST  CHAr^T  No    2 


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2£ 
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1.4 


1.6 


A     -APPLIED  l,VMGE     Inc 


88 


The  Psychology  of  Maeterlinck 


Jealousy  is  a  new  experience  with  Selysette,  and 
awakens  her  curiosity,  and  she  strives  to  analyze  the 
emotion,  to  vivisect  it,  as  it  were,  and  watch  its  very 
pulse  beats.  "A  new  trait  in  his  character  always 
amuses  the  individual."  She  does  what  is,  at  times, 
ill-advised,  begins  a  system  of  self-examination  and 
analysis  of  motives,  strives  to  lay  her  finger  upon  the 
sore  spot,  and  finally  decides  that  there  is  no  sore 
spot,  but  that  the  whole  of  herself  is  ill,  and  then,  like 
the  heroine  in  Ibsen's  The  Wild  Duck,  prepares  to 
make-away  with  herself.  Her  suicide  is  the  supreme 
negation  of  self-feeling,  and  comes  perilously  near 
the  altruistic  or  philosophic  suicide,  in  its  careful 
planning,  ^'et,  one  can't  help  feeling  that  there  is  at 
basis  the  childish  element  of  revenge  by  making  the 
two  lovers  remorseful  all  the  rest  of  the  days  of  their 
lives.  Aglavaine  so  interprets  the  prompting  emo- 
tion, for  she  cries,  "We  can  never  be  happy  again!" 

Selysette  would  also  picture  herself  as  a  heroine, 
and  thrill  ecstatically  in  the  radiance  of  the  glorious 
light  in  which  she  would  see  herself  surrounded  in 
the  memory  of  her  beloved  husband,  and  of  Agla- 
vaine. She  felt  that  her  suicide  partook  of  a  saintly 
element,  and  made  her  above  ordinary  persons.  Her 
conduct  and  thoughts  are  so  characteristic  of  child- 
hood that  one  wonders  at  their  simplicity  and  fidelity. 


MARY  MAGDALENE 

MR.  E.  P.  EVANS  says,  "Spiritual  affini- 
ties have  a  stronger  cohesive  attraction 
than  natural  affinities,  and  that,  in  every 
case  of  tension,  the  latter  are  sure  to  yield 
and  be  rent  asunder."    Such  is  the  proposition  which 
Maeterlinck    set    out    to    prove    when    he    wrote 
Mary  Magdalene,   a   play  based  upon  New  Tes- 
tament personages,  but  with  whom  he  takes  much 
poetical  license.     It  is  a  triangle  play,  and  deals  with 
the  warring  elements  of  a  woman's  soul.    It  depicts 
the    everlasting    struggle    between    sensualism    and 
spirituality,  and  shows  us  the  latter  triumphant.     It 
is   a   startling   exegesis  coming  from   Maeterlinck, 
whose  writings  are  so  shrouded  in  gloon  that  we 
seem  unable  to  discover  the  face  of  the  good  God. 

Mary  is  represented  as  the  Woman  of  the  Seven 
Devils,  given  over  to  a  life  of  worldly  ease  and  pleas- 
ure, and  indulger  of  the  lusts  of  the  body,  the  anti- 
thesis of  all  that  is  holy  and  spiritual.  Verus  is  a 
man  the  embodiment  of  animal  passion  and  carnal 
desire,  who  seeks  for  self-gratification.  They  are 
both  swayed  solely  by  the  sex  instinct  and  impulse, 
and  each  knows  nought  of  the  discipline  of  self-con- 
trol. Into  the  Magdalene's  life  comes  the  Saviour 
with  His  Beatitudes.  Mary  is  so  impressed  with 
these  words  that  she  is  moved  to  revolt  from  her  life 
of  sins,  and  to  turn  to  a  better  calling. 

Such   Psychologists   as  Theodore   Ribot   and  G. 
Stanley  Hall,  admit  that  there  is  such  a  thing  as 

89 


90 


The  Psychology  of  Maeterlinck 


"sudden  conversion."  It  is  often  due  to  a  "moral 
shock;"  such  as  in  the  case  of  Mary  Magdalene. 
1  he  sexual  and  the  religious  are  not  irreconcilable, 
but  as  has  been  claimed  elsewhere  in  this  volume,  the 
sexual  is  essentially  a  part  of  the  religious.  Some 
cliaractcrs  do  not  seem  to  be  able  to  reconcile  the  two. 
Doubtless  this  caused  the  terrible  mental  struggle  in 
Mary's  mind  in  this  play.  The  nature  of  her  life 
up  to  the  moment  of  conversion  was  such  that  she 
would  rind  much  difficulty  in  making  any  portion  of 
it  a  part  of  her  new  life  following  the  moment  of 
conversion.  The  sexual  element  would  be  revolting. 
It  it  doubtful  if  she  ever  could  reconcile  this  emotion 
as  part  of  her  religious  life.  I  have  suggested  in  the 
later  discussion  a  possibility  of  such  reconciliation  in 
event  of  Verus  proving  the  man  of  her  ideal.  But  his 
inability  to  comprehend  the  mental  change  which 
had  occurred,  made  him  give  to  Mary  a  second 
psychic  shock,  and  this  would,  perhaps,  work  toward 
an  irremediable  lesion  in  mind,  and  there  might  even 
result  a  dual  personality. 

Mary  is  as  a  blind  woman  stumbling  in  the  dark- 
ness. About  her  are  only  those  who  are  of  earthly 
vision.  Verus  is  so  blinded  by  sin  and  paganism  that 
in  Mary's  conversion  and  desire  to  follow  the  Mes- 
siah, he  can  see  nothing  but  a  new  flame,  a  new  lover. 
"It  is  one  of  the  rare  achievements  of  high  culture, 
and  has  always  been  the  prerogative  of  exception- 
ally thoughtful  minds,  to  be  able  to  distinguish  be- 
tween the  apparent  and  the  actual,  to  keep  mental 
conceptions  free  from  the  influences  of  optical  illu- 
sions, and  not  to  be  deceived  by  the  surprises  and 
sophistries  of  the  senses."     So  we  cannot  wonder 


Mary  Magdalene 


91 


that  the  Roman  Soldier,  Verus,  could  not  distinguish 
between  the  phase  of  love  and  adoration  which  Mary 
bore  the  Messiah,  and  the  love  which  she  had  for 
himself.  The  one  was  of  heaven  heavenly,  the  other 
of  the  earth  earthy. 

Poor  Mary  was  torn  between  the  two  men,  anxious 
to  love  each  in  his  place,  anxious  to  serve  each. 
She  is  not  a  complex  and  unusual  character.  She 
is  but  a  carefully  drawn  portrait  of  every  woman 
of  her  temperament.  She  was  filled  with  a  pas- 
sionate, maternal  love.  That  emotion  caused  her 
to  slip  into  the  ways  of  sin,  and  the  same  emo- 
tion which  caused  her  downfall  subsequently  caused 
her  redemption.  She  realized  that  she  was  not 
living  the  best,  the  highest  life,  and  hungry  and 
sick  of  sin  and  its  consequences,  she  turned  to  what 
was  better.  Had  Verus  been  the  hero  she  fain  would 
have  believed  him,  had  he  made  a  real,  genuine  ef- 
fort to  rescue  the  Teacher,  Mary  would  have  given 
to  him  a  wife's  love.  She  would  have  served  him 
well,  and  been  a  model  of  wifely  devotion.  But  be- 
cause he  was  blinded,  and  had  not  the  spiritual  vision, 
he  scorned  her,  (a  complex  emotion  of  disgust  and 
anger),  and  turned  from  her  in  her  hour  of  need. 
Verus  is  typical  of  men  of  his  class,  even  to  his  revil- 
ing of  Mary,  and  accusing  her  of  sin  and  faithless- 
ness, in  the  presence  of  her  beggar  friends. 

Yet  one  feels  a  certain  amount  of  sympathy  for 
Verus,  for  he  was  a  man  as  we  usually  conceive  of 
men.  "The  ego  in  each  of  us  is  composed  of  con- 
tradictory tendencies;  virtues  and  vices,  modesty  and 
pride,  avarice  and  prodigality,  desire  for  repose  and 
need  of  action,  and  many  others."    He  was  swayed 


If,    • 

li 

rt  i 


92 


TA^  Psychology  of  Maeterlinck 


by  a  man's  emotion  of  jealousy  and  suspicion, — not 
a  mean,  contemptible  emotion  in  such  a  case  as  this, 
but  an  honest,  righteous  emotion,  which  made  him 
want  all  of  Mary's  love,  or  none.  Could  he  have 
had  the  broader  vision,  he  might  have  discerned  that 
it  was  a  religious  emotion  which  enthralled  Mary, 
and  that  that  emotion  would  only  bind  her  closer  to 
him,  and  not  separate  them.  But,  "with  our  present 
number  of  senses  we  are  unable  to  perceive  a  great 
variety  of  objects  which  are  either  too  small  for  us 
or  too  large,  too  near,  too  far,  or  too  subtile,  so  that 
we  are  constantly  hemmed  in  and  hindered  in  our 
pursuit  of  knowledge  by  bodily  limitations  and  im- 
perfections, and  thus  only  partially  comprehend  the 
real  relations  and  qualities  of  things."  In  repulsing 
Mary  at  the  crucial  moment  in  her  life,  Verus  obeyed 
only  a  natural  instinct.  As  Pascal  has  said,  "The 
grandeur  of  man  is  also  his  misery."  The  emotions 
of  man  are  not  under  the  direct  control  of  the  will, 
so  as  psychologists  we  can  overlook  his  roughness  and 
brutality,  and  feel  pity  for  him  in  his  hopelessness. 


MONNA  VANNA 

MAETERLINCK  seems  fond  of  writing 
plays  in  groups  so  as  to  discuss  his 
theories  from  every  possible  vantage 
point,  and  to  offset  one  opmion  with 
another.  He  is  a  comparative  essayist.  Monna  Fan- 
na  belongs  to  a  trilogy  of  triangular  plays  of  which 
the  others  are  Mary  Magdalene,  and  Aglavaine  and 
Selysette. 

Mary  Magdalene  was  a  woman  striving  to  attain 
her  ideals  and  throw  off  the  shackles  of  materialism. 
Selysette  was  a  child  trying  to  efface  herself  so  that 
her  husband  might  be  free  to  give  his  love  where  love 
seemed  to  ca?l.  Monna  Vanna  is  a  woman  of  re- 
markable purity,  striving  to  be  true  to  a  man  who 
was  unworthy  of  her  noble,  sacrificing  womanhood. 
Mary  Magdalene  seems  to  stand  for  the  New 
Testament  teaching,  that  a  believer  cannot  be  happi- 
ly yoked  with  an  unbeliever.  The  impossibility  of 
harmonizing  such  divergent  beliefs,  of  finding  a  com- 
mon plane  for  one  of  gross  nature  and  one  of  spirit- 
ual calm  and  idealization,  is  the  emotion  which  stirs 
Mary  to  her  depths,  and  she  sacrifices  the  earthly 
peace  and  satisfaction  for  the  heavenly.  And  one 
feels  that  she  has  gained  in  so  doing;  her  soul  is  rich- 
er, for  she  has  been  true  to  her  better-self. 

"This  above  all,"  says  Shakespeare,  "to  thine  own  self  be 
true, 
And  it  must  follow,  as  the  night  the  day, 
Thou  canst  not  then  be  false  to  any  man." 

93 


i(  I 


94 


The  Psychology  of  Maeterlinck 


Monna  Vanna  makes  a  similar  choice  as  Mary. 
She  selects  the  better  man,  the  one  who  is  her  ideal. 
We  find  nothing  discordant  to  our  sensibilities  in  the 
selection  which  she  makes.  Had  her  husband  been  a 
stalwart,  true  man,  who  had  accepted  her  word,  we 
would  not  have  felt  that  Monna  Vanna  did  right  in 
going  away  with  Prinzivalle.  As  it  was,  because  her 
husband  doubted  her,  we  feel  that  she  did  the  only 
honestly  possible  thing  by  leaving  him  and  taking  up 
a  higher,  more  sublime  life  with  the  man  who  stood 
for  what  is  noblest  and  best  in  life. 

Maeterlinck,  who  has  been  his  own  best  commen- 
tator, says  of  Monna  Vanna,  "Guido,  being  an  ordi- 
nary man,  cannot  comprehend  that  one  can  lo/e  and 
still  restrain  one's  passion.  In  presence  of  these  two 
men,  so  unlike  in  character,  Monna  Vanna  realizes 
the  depth  of  her  own  feelings,  and,  threatened  by  the 
danger  of  losing  Prinzivalle,  my  heroine  triumphs 
over  all  obstacles  by  sheer  force  of  will.  According 
to  my  analysis  of  the  play,  it  is  divided  into  three 
distinct  elements:  ist,  her  sacrifice;  2nd,  the  awaken- 
ing of  her  soul;  3d,  the  triumph  of  love  and  will 
over  destiny." 

Selysette  does  not  leave  us  so  convinced.  One  feels 
that  Aglavaine  lingered  too  long  toying  with  the 
husand,  when  she,  because  of  her  greater  age  and  ex- 
perience, should  have  departed,  and  left  the  little 
Selysette  to  the  enjoyment  of  her  woman's  paradise. 
Selysette  was  the  immature  child.  Monna  Vanna 
and  Mary  Magdalene  are  the  mature  women.  They 
place  their  love  after  mature  thought.  Selysette 
obeyed  her  natural  instinct  and  accepted  the  love  be- 
stowed upon  her  without  question.    She  rises  up  to 


Monna  Vanna 


95 


contest  only  when  she  found  that  there  were  other 
chambers  In  her  husband's  heart  to  which  she  was 
not  admitted,  chambers  the  key  to  which  she  had  not 
lost, — like  that  of  the  tower, — but  which  she  never 
had  possessed ;  and  to  which  she  could  not  penetrate, 
because  of  the  discrepancy  in  their  years  and  educa- 
tion. She  is  typically  the  woman  of  the  Far  East 
who  has  never  achieved  her  freedom. 

The  other  two  women  are  of  the  twentieth  cen- 
tury, women  of  action  who  vindicate  their  sex,  and 
make  their  minds  the  masters,  and  do  not  yield  weak- 
ly to  their  emotions.  Selysette  was  as  "a  tyrant  whose 
power  lay  in  the  loyalty  of  her  subjects,  and  not  it 
all  in  her  own  soul."  But  the  others  were  as  "a  deity, 
imminent,  brooding,  and  unaware  of  itself." 

The  event  which  changed  the  trend  of  Mary's  life, 
was  the  visit  to  the  house  of  Silanus,  when  she  heard 
the  words  of  the  Saviour,  and  was  herself  freed  from 
the  accusation  of  sin.  The  event  which  altered  Mon- 
na Vanna  was  the  moment  of  her  realization  in  the 
tent  of  Prinzivalle  that  here  was  a  man  of  purity 
of  soul  too  great  to  stoop  to  ignoble  purpose.  Each 
found  a  man  who  stood  for  righteousness,  who  was 
not  swayed  by  any  sexual  passion.  Before  such  men, 
women  must  ever  bow.  Fate  had  predestined  that 
these  spiritual  affinities  should  be  attracted,  but,  as 
we  read  in  Yajnavalkyad-harma-Sastra,  "As  with  a 
single  wheel  there  can  be  no  progress  of  a  chariot, 
so  fate  without  human  effort  cannot  be  carried  into 
effect." 

The  man  which  each  of  these  women  met  was  "  — 
like  the  maiden  of  heavenly  beauty  or  hideous  as- 
pect, who  meets  the  soul  of  the  Parsi  at  the  Chinvad 


1 


96 


The  Psychology  of  Maeterlinck 


bridge,  and  is  the  personification  of  his  own  thoughts, 
words,  and  deeds.  Each  man  grows  into  the  com- 
plete embodiment  of  the  propensities  which  he  fos- 
ters, and  fondly  cherished  tendencies  take  root  in 
him  as  instincts." 

The  difference  between  these  women  of  bold 
initiative,  who  each  solved  the  problem  in  her  own 
way,  is  explained  by  a  paragraph  from  Evans.  It 
is  not  a  new  theory  with  psychologists,  but  it  is  terse- 
ly and  accurately  phrased,  and  explains  clearly  the 
reason  why  some  women  might  not  have  been  so 
swayed  by  their  emotions,  nor  acted  as  did  these  in 
their  dilemmas.  "In  this,  as  in  every  department  of 
ethics,  the  conduct  of  the  individual  depends  upon 
the  degree  of  his  mental  enlightenment  and  moral  de- 
velopment, and  is  influenced  by  the  religious  creed  he 
happens  to  profess  only  so  far  as  the  latter  may  inci- 
dentally modify  his  personal  character.  As  a  rule, 
its  effect  in  restraining  inborn  propensities  is  very 
slight,  especially  when  the  religion  is  handed  down 
from  generation  to  generation  as  a  sacred  heirloom 
of  the  race,  and  the  performance  of  the  duties  it  in- 
culcates becomes  perfunctory." 

"God  gives  us  love.     Something  to  love 
He  lends  us ;  but,  when  love  is  grown 
To  ripeness,  that  on  which  it  throve 
Falls  off,  and  love  is  left  alone." 

Tennyson. 


SISTER  BEATRICE 

SISTER  BEATRICE  confirms  one's  opinions 
of  Maeterlinck  as  a  psychologist  of  high  or- 
der. The  religious  emotion  is  probably  the 
highest  emotion  which  can  control  man.  It 
belongs  to  the  group  of  higher  emotions  which  in- 
cludes the  aesthetic  and  the  sexual.  Some  psycholo- 
gists are  prone  to  confuse  the  aesthetic  and  the 
religioMS  emotions,  and  are  not  able  to  distin- 
guish Ov.*ween  the  two.  To  me  it  seems  evident 
that  the  religious  is  the  higher,  and  that  one  cannot 
experience  its  heights,  or  depths,  without  experienc- 
ing the  ecstasies  of  the  aesthetic.  The  aesthetic  has 
always  been  used  by  all  forms  of  religion  to  induce 
the  religious  emotion,  and  what  is  used  as  a  scaf- 
folding in  erecting  a  structure,  cannot  be  more  im- 
portant than  the  edifice  itself.  In  religious  senti- 
ment we  find  involved  all  imaginable  emotions  based 
upon  the  existence  of  varied  sentiments.  But  as  these 
minor  sentiments  and  emotions  are  included  in  the 
aesthetic  and  the  sexual,  which  make  for  idealiza- 
tion and  preservation  of  self  and  the  family,  we  in- 
clude them  by  making  the  two  lesser  of  these  three 
higher  emotions  a  part  of  the  one,  the  religious  emo- 
tion. 

Darwin,  in  his  Descent  of  Man,  wrote,  "The  feel- 
ing of  religious  devotion  is  a  highly  complex  one, 
consisting  of  love,  complete  submission  to  an  ex- 
alted and  mysterious  superior,  a  strong  sense  of  de- 
pendence, fear,  reverence,  gratitude,  hope  for  the 

97 


98 


The  Psychology  of  Maeterlinck 


future,  and  perhaps  other  elements.    No  being  could 
expfience  so  complex  an  emotion  until  advanced  in 
his  intellectual   and  moral   faculties   to   at  least   a 
moderately  high  level.     Nevertheless,  we  see  some 
distant  approach  to  this  state  of  mind  in  the  deep 
love  of  a  dog  for  his  master,  associated  with  complete 
submission,  some  fear,  and  perhaps  other  feelings." 
Accepting  this  deduction,  let  us  glance  at  Sister 
Beatrice,  the  play.       The  setting  is  aesthetic,  and 
planned  to  awaken  in  the  beholder  the  feeling  of 
religious  awe  and  reverence  the  instant  that  the  cur- 
tain rises.    Be  one  ever  so  pagan,  it  seems  impossible 
to  resist  the  supernatural  charm  of  the  grey  walls  of 
a  peaceful  convent,  with  its  altar  to  the  Virgin,  its 
red  lamp  burning  before  the  altar,  its  candles,  its 
glittering  brass  of  the  rail  before  the  shrine.    When 
this  emotion  has  reached  its  height,  and  seems  to 
need  a  spur  to  its  intensity  to  equalize  the  diminu- 
tion in  feeling  as  a  result  of  a  nerve-discharge  of 
ecstatic  pleasure,  the  great  doors  are  thrown  open, 
and  we  have  a  glimpse  of  the  heavenly  sky  filled  with 
myriads  of  stars,  and  as  we  begin  to  lose  some  of 
the    aesthetic    emotion    caused    by    this    suggestive 
glimpse  of  the  unfathomable  universe,  the  orb  of  day 
begins  to  rise,  and  suffuse  the  heavens  with  a  roseate 
tint,  and  *^ 

"The  Morn,  in  russet  mantle  clad, 
Walks  o'er  the  dew  of  yon  high  eastern  hill.' 

Then  we  hear  the  solemn  tone  of  the  Matins 
Bell.  The  very  adjective  which  long  years  have  jus- 
tified in  speaking  of  the  deep  tones  of  a  church  or 
convent  bell,  bespeaks  the  emotion  which  man  has 


Sister  Beatrice 


99 


long  experienced  when  hearing  it.  The  bell,  or  its 
primitive  brothers,  the  gong  and  the  triangle,  have 
been  used  in  primitive  religions  to  assist  in  producing 
the  religious  emotion.  Few  can  resist  the  peaceful, 
reminiscent  mood  suggested  by  well-tuned  chimes. 
A  whole  psychology  might  be  written  upon  the  emo- 
tions inspired  by  bells.  Our  poets  have  long  made 
use  of  them  in  poetry, — the  mad  bells,  the  clanging 
bells,  the  wild  bells,  the  jangling  bells,  the  merry 
bells,  the  glad  bells! 

Then  come  the  beggars  to  the  gate,  and  their  shab- 
biness  and  misery  appeal  to  the  pathetic,  prompt  the 
benevolent,  and  so  add  their  quota  to  the  construc- 
tion of  the  religious  emotion.  The  entrance  of  the 
chanting  Sisters  (Nuns)  is  aesthetic  in  suggestion, 
and  gives  rise  instantly  to  the  emotion  of  reverence, 
and  we  are  in  a  mood  to  feel  with  them  the  horror  of 
what  has  happened  during  the  night, — the  theft  of 
the  sacred  image  of  the  Virgin.  We  feel  with  them 
righteous  indignation  at  the  carelessness  of  the  custo- 
dian. Sister  Beatrice,  and  are  able  to  place  ourselves 
in  their  emotion  of  horror  at  the  sacrilege,  when  the 
consecrated  garments  are  discovered  upon  the  sup- 
posed Sister  Beatrice.  But  as  students  of  psychology, 
we  sympathize  with  Sister  Beatrice  in  this  scene,  be- 
cause we  consider  that  the  theft  of  the  garments  from 
the  altar-statue  would  be  due  to  religious  insanity, 
due  to  suggestion,  and  that  long,  lonely  vigils  with 
pondering  before  the  image  had  had  their  effect  upon 
the  suggestible  Nun,  until  she  had  come  to  believe 
herself  the  very  Virgin,  and  had  robed  herself  in 
the  finery,  and  then  concealed  the  gorgeousness  which 
bespoke  her  holy  incarnation,  or  transformation,  by 


IV 


i 


lOO  The  Psychology  of  Maeterlinck 

the  humble  garments  of  her  vows  of  poverty  and 
chastity.  The  easy  suggestibility  of  the  religious 
aesthete  is  suggested  by  the  fact  that  the  Nuns  them- 
selves are  impressed  by  the  sincerity  of  Sister  Bea- 
trice and  regard  the  occurrences  as  miracles.  One 
should  not  regard  literally  and  materialistically  the 
roses  and  garlands,  the  palms,  which  tlie  Nuns  wave 
as  they  come  forth  from  the  chastisement  of  Sister 
Beatrice,  and  which  surge  across  their  way  and  im- 
pede their  footsteps.  Rather  must  we  regard  these 
as  symbolic  signs  of  the  simple  faith  of  these  pious 
women,  and  roseate  glimpses  of  a  spiritual  vision. 
The  song  which  they  raise  is  one  which  would  well 
to  the  lips  of  one  in  the  heights  of  religious  ecstasy. 
They  are  hysterical  to  the  last  degree,  barely  escap- 
ing the  transitional  line  which  transforms  religious 
hysteria  into  religious  insanity.  "In  this  instance  we 
have  the  exercise  of  close  observation,  judgment,  rea- 
son, and  imagination  culminating  in  the  exhibition  of 
superstitions  fear — all  the  elements,  in  short,  which 
constitute  religious  sentiment  in  its  crudest  form." 

The  legend  itself,  upon  which  the  play  is  based, 
exists  in  the  earliest  folk-stories  of  the  Netherlands, 
and  may  be  even  older  than  this  source.  The  inci- 
dents used  by  Maeterlinck  come  from  John  David- 
son's The  Ballad  of  a  Nun,  which,  in  turn,  comes 
from  a  Dutch  legend.  Like  all  folk-stories,  it  doubt- 
less had  its  origin  in  truth  which  has  been  picturesque- 
ly exaggerated.  Doubtless  some  Nun  did  forsake  her 
vows  and  elo^,  apd  come,  as  one  must  who  violates 
his  own  sentiment  of  self-rtg:ir(^,  to  an  unhappy  end, 
and  then  strove  to  take  up  once  more  the  despised 
life  which,  after  years  of  suffering,  shame  and  ig- 


Sister  Beatrice 


lOI 


nominy,  had  come  to  seem  the  only  life  worth  while, 
by  returning  to  the  peace  and  quiet  of  the  cloister 
to  die.  She  turned  from  her  sins  to  the  cloister,  as 
the  Magdalene  turned  from  hers  to  the  Saviour.  The 
cloister  to  her  mind  was  symbolic  of  the  Holy  Pres- 
ence, and  was  the  only  refuge,  aesthetic  and  actual, 
where  she  could  flee  for  harbouring. 

To  continue  our  reconstruction  of  the  tale, — The 
image  was  stolen  by  vandals,  and  may  have  been  re- 
turned in  after  years,  as  it  weighed  heavily  up  some 
guilty  conscience.  It  did  not  have  a  marketable  val- 
ue, and  had  been  useless  to  its  possessor,  and  doubt- 
less the  suggestion  which  the  possession  of  the  statue 
made  was  against  the  successful  perpetration  of 
further  crime,  and  so,  in  order  to  free  his  guilty  con- 
science, the  thief  replaced  the  image  as  mysteriously 
as  he  had  abstracted  it.  Perhaps  he  stole  it  with  the 
assistance  of  the  eloping  Sister,  and  she  may  have 
brought  it  back  with  her  when  she  crept  into  the  con- 
vent on  the  eventful  night  after  her  long  pilgrimage. 
The  garments  were  doubtless  discarded  as  of  no  val- 
ue, and  the  jewelled  image  alone  transported  from 
the  building. 

Later  some  peasant  woman,  who  had  witnessed 
Sister  Beatrice  eloping,  came  to  the  gate  to  alarm 
the  sleeping  Nuns,  and  as  she  stood  and  gazed  upon 
the  vacant  niche  of  the  Image  of  the  Virgin,  and 
the  discarded  garments  of  the  image  and  of  the  Nun, 
was  filled  with  admiration,  a  complex  sentiment  com- 
posed of  wonder  and  a  negative  self-feeling  of  sub- 
mission, which  caused  her  to  don,  timidly  perchance, 
the  vestments  of  the  image,  and  then  in  terror,  as 
the  bell  for  early  prayers  rang  forth,  cast  over  them 


!>     " 


w 


I' ' 


I02 


The  Psychology  of  Maeterlinck 


the  simple  habit  of  the  Sisterhood.  Or,  it  may  be 
that  superstition  so  terrified  her  that  she  became  hys- 
terical, and  then  was  filled  with  religious  ecstacy 
which  transformed  itself  into  mania,  so  that  she  was 
marked  with  a  stigmata,  and  instead  of  reflecting 
nail-prints,  or  the  likeness  of  a  crucifix,  upon  her 
body,  reflected  in  herself  some  of  the  attributes  which 
the  Church  had  taught  her  as  appertaining  to  the 
Holy  Mother,  and  believed  herself  the  Blessed  Vir- 
gin sent  to  earth  to  take  the  place  of  Sister  Beatrice. 
In  so  acting  she  was  fulfilling  what  had  been  a  life- 
long desire  but  from  which  she  had  refrained,  either 
because  of  home-demands,  or  lack  of  positive  self- 
feeling  and  too  much  of  the  negative  sentiment  of  un- 
worthiness.  The  final  end  of  this  pious  woman  who 
took  up  Sister  Beatrice's  work,  we  can  only  speculate, 
and  with  no  certainty.  The  mania  which  made  her 
see  in  herself  the  reincarnation  of  the  Virgin  Mother, 
may  have  reacted  when  the  real  Sister  Beatrice  reap- 
peared, bringing  with  her  the  image  itself,  and,  after 
decking  it  in  its  regal  robes  of  gorgeous  elegance, 
crept  out  into  the  snow  and  cold  of  the  night  to  per- 
ish by  the  roadside,  an  unknown  beggar.  "Religious 
madness,"  such  as  we  have  been  imagining  as  affect- 
ing this  woman,  "follows  a  course  depending  upon 
character,  education,  environment,  epoch,  and  form 
of  belief." 

Any  such  explanation,  brings  in  the  ever-interest- 
ing discussion  of  disintegrating  lapse  of  personality. 
The  peasant  woman  was  a  woman  of  hysterical  tem- 
perament, a  fit  subject  for  such  an  event,  and  the 
space  elapsing  between  the  beginning  of  the  new 
life  and  the  resumption  of  the  old,  was  just  about  of 


Sister  Beatrice 


103 


the  right  length  to  fit  the  conception,  and  to  accord 
with  our  physiological  and  psychological  observa- 
tions,—the  periods  of  eariy  and  late  youth.  The 
similarity  of  conditions  which  made  her  drop  her 
personality  and  become  the  Virgin,  and  those  which 
rctransformed  her  into  her  former  self,  are  much 
like  the  motions  of  the  mesmerist  when  altering  by 
hypnotic  gesture  the  personality  of  the  subject,  and 
then  by  reverse  gesture  restoring  the  subject  to  nor- 
mal. Prof.  Jastrow  says,  "Personality  may  be  marred 
in  the  making;  it  may  also  fail  to  weather  the  storms 
of  life  unscathed  and  come  to  port  at  almost  any 
stage  of  its  joumeyings  to  repair  its  damages,  it  may 
be,  or  to  continue  its  career  in  less  enterprising  ser- 
vice.—The  element  of  violent  shock"  was  here  pres- 
ent to  work  the  disintegrating  lapse  in  the  personal- 
ity of  the  peasant,  and  to  reverse  and  restore. 

In  the  character  of  Sister  Beatrice  we  find  the  pre- 
dominating emotion  of  sex  controlling.  This  primal 
emotion  had  been  the  propelfing  instinct  which  forced 
her  to  the  religious  life.  "The  morbid  exhaltation 
of  the  religious  feeling  is  derived  from  attraction  and 
love,  as  depression  springs  from  fear."  She  felt  a 
great  longing,  some  demand  of  the  body  requiring 
satisfaction,  and  believed  that  it  could  be  satisfied 
only  by  the  vocation  of  religion.  This  belief  would 
be  encouraged  by  the  home  surroundings  of  the  peas- 
ant giri,  and  the  teachings  of  the  Parish  Priest  and 
the  consecrated  Nuns  who  directed  her  education. 
The  impressions  made  upon  a  child  before  the  age 
of  eight  are  the  impressions  which  will  weather  the 
storms  of  the  years,  and  influence  his  character  most 
at  crucial  moments  in  life's  stormy  way.    So  it  was 


<i  ■ 


I 


I  I 


I04 


The  Psychology  of  Maeterlinck 


very  natural  that  Sister  Beatrice  should  have  become 
an  inmate  of  the  convent,  and  one  of  its  most  zealous 
members.  Benevolence  is  one  of  the  sentiments  close- 
ly enwrapped  in  the  sexual  emotion.  But  the  sacred 
wedding  with  the  Church,  did  not  satisfy  her  soul's 
demands,  and  she  cried  out  for  something  more,  and 
the  handsome  Prince  Bellidor  seemed  to  bring  the 
answer.  Unused  to  the  admiration  of  men,  she  was 
particularly  susceptible  to  his  glances  and  his  flatter- 
ies, and  the  way  of  her  fall  was  made  easy  by  the 
very  severity  of  her  surroundings.  Every  emotion 
expends  itself  and  leaves  us  empty,  and  so  the  aesthe- 
tics of  the  religious  life  had  lost  their  power  to  hold, 
and  Sister  Beatrice  fell,  a  victim  to  the  normal  de- 
sires of  womankind,  the  desire  for  Motherhood. 
Altho  she  must  be  condemned  by  Theologians,  yet  na- 
ture will  cry  out  in  justification. 

But  Bellidor  was  "a  gay  deceiver,"  one  of  the 
earliest  type  of  men  who  prey  on  women  to  please 
their  own  carnal  lust,  and  who  demand  frequent 
change  in  order  to  keep  alive  and  active  their  carnal 
passions.  And  when  he  had  worked  his  will  upon 
the  unsophisticated,  trusting  Beatrice,  he  cast  her 
aside,  and  filled  with  remorse  tho  she  was,  yet  shame 
predominated;  and  controlled  by  pride  which  kept 
her  from  returning  to  the  convent  a  penitent,  and 
begging  readmission  into  the  convent,  bringing 

"The  worldly  mourning  of  her  widow's  veil, 
Like  a  blackbird's  wing  among  the  convent  doves," 


she  sank  lower  in  the  paths  of  sin,  and,  seeking  bread 
to  satisfy  her  hunger  cravings,  and  the  cry  of  the 


Sister  Beatrice 


105 


tiny  babe  in  her  arms,  became  a  social  outcast,  the 
most  condemned  among  women,  and  yet  of  all  the 
most  to  be  pitied. 

In  the  last  act,  as  we  have  reconstructed  the  facts 
of  the  tale,  the  pseudo  Sister  Beatrice  admits  her  as 
she  would  any  uo  jr  beggar-creature  at  the  gate,  and 
in  that  instant  ner  own  personality  undergoes  a  vital 
change,  and  as  she  clothes  the  real  Sister  Beatrice 
in  her  own  humble  garments  to  hide  her  nakedness, 
and  assists  her  to  replace  the  stolen  image  upon  the 
altar,  arraying  it  in  its  royal  robes,  time  drops 
from  her  memory,  and  she  knows  that  she  is  herself 
a  simple  peasant  woman  who  came  to  beg  for  alms, 
and  so  she  slips  through  the  open  gates  into  the 
world,  leaving  alone,  penitent,  broken  in  body  and 
spirit,  the  trembling,  unhappy,  erring  Sister  Beatrice. 

But  God,  who  has  an  all-seeing  eye  and  looks  at 
the  motives  of  men,  has  sympathy  and  pardons  and 
forgives  the  sin  which  had  been  prompted  by  man's 
most  controlling  instinct,  the  sex-life,  the  desire  for 
the  preservation  of  his  own  image  in  his  children. 

The  interpretation  placed  by  the  devout  Nuns 
upon  the  pitiful  condition  of  Sister  Beatrice  is  char- 
itable. Her  wretched  condition  they  readily  attribute 
to  some  mission  of  charity  performed  during  the 
night-watch,  and  their  eyes  are  too  dim  with 
age,  and  the  light  in  the  cloister  too  faint,  for 
them  to  see  the  indelible  lines  of  sin  which  are  en- 
graved upon  the  countenance,  altho  slightly  ob- 
scured by  the  suffusion  of  the  shadow  of  death 
which  hovers  o'er  her.  As  they  pay  reverential  re- 
spect to  Sister  Beatrice,  they  are  paying  respect  to 
the  other  woman,  who  had  for  twenty  years  carried 


I06  The  Psychology  of  Maeterlinck 

the  burdens  in  the  heat  of  the  day  and  who  has  now 
slipped  out  into  the  night  and  disappeared.who  knows 
where.  It  is  a  justly  accorded  homage,  a  tribute 
paid  to  the  real  Sister  Beatrice  who  had  struggled 
and  fought  a  good  fight,  even  tho  sin  had  vanquished 
her  in  the  end,  and  to  the  woman  who  completed  the 
work  which  Sister  Beatrice  had  weakly  laid  down. 

It  is  a  rule  that  an  emotion  in  its  extreme  intensity 
sweeps  the  will,  and  that  an  emotion  is  weak  in  its 
composition  which  does  not  so  sweep.  So  in  this  play, 
Maeterlinck  has  given  us  a  comparative  study  of  the 
great  emotions  of  religion  and  of  sex,  the  latter  con- 
trolling Sister  Beatrice,  and  the  former  being  su- 
preme in  the  life  of  the  woman  who  took  her  place. 
After  studying  this  play  we  can  say  with  Pascal  in 
his  Thoughts,  "I  behold  those  terrible  spaces  in  the 
Universe  which  encompass  me." 


"Nor  heaven  itself  upon  the  past  has  power; 
But  what  has  been,  has  been,  and  I  have  had  my  hour." 

Dryden. 


urn 


.      ARDIANE  AND  BARBE  BLEUE 

THIS  play  is  the  symbolism  of  woman's 
love.  Ardiane  is  typically  the  woman  of 
the  twentieth  century  who  is  able  to  take 
the  initiative  for  herself  and  stands  free 
and  independent  of  man.  She  consents  to  marry 
Barbe  Bleue  in  order  to  release  from  their  cap- 
tivity her  imprisoned  sister-women.  This  achieved, 
her  work  is  done  and  she  scorns  to  receive  any- 
thing from  the  hands  of  Barbe  Bleue.  She  is  not 
devoid  of  the  tender  emotion,  for  she  protects  Barbe 
Bleue  against  the  wrathful  vengeance  of  the  peas- 
antry, and  cuts  his  bonds,  feeling  safe  in  so  doing  as 
she  knows  herself  and  her  power  over  him. 

The  other  women  are  timid  souls,  representative 
of  the  women  of  the  past  ages,  the  women  of  the 
Harem  who  worship  their  Lord  and  Master  as  if  he 
were  a  divinely  appointed  potentate.  He  can  abuse 
them,  imprison  them,  but  they  are  swayed  by  their 
inherited  instincts,  and  fawn  at  his  feet  as  the  poor 
dog  in  The  Blue  Bird.  They  are  ready  to  forgive  all, 
and  he  will  again  ill-treat  them  if  his  mood  so  please. 
But  Ardiane,  when  she  finds  that  after  she  has  re- 
leased the  women  they  will  not  follow  her  as  a 
Jeanne  d'Arc,  goes  on  her  own  way  triumphantly,  as 
the  modern  woman  does.  She  is  typical  of  the  Suf- 
fragists as  opposed  to  the  Suffragettes;  those  for- 
mer are  expansionists,  the  latter  iconoclasts.  Ardiane 
is  of  sterling  qualities  of  character,  and  rises  trium- 
phant above  the  conventions  of  society.    She  is  the 

107 


io8 


The  Psychology  of  Maeterlinck 


woman  who  divorces  her  husband  because  he  is 
slothful  and  does  not  do  his  share  toward  rearing  the 
family,  yet  at  the  instant  that  the  decree  is  signed, 
she  feels  for  him  only  the  extremist  pity  and  sor- 
row. Her  love  is  deep,  but  her  spirit  must  vindi- 
cate itself  and  be  free  from  stultifying  shackles. 


"Power,  like  a  desolating  pestilence. 
Pollutes  whate'er  it  touches;  and  obedience. 
Bane  ">^  all  genius,  virtue,  freedom,  truth, 
Makes  slaves  of  men,  and  of  the  human  frame 
A  mechanized   automaton." 

Shelley. 


Aesthetics  of  the  Dramas 

"So  long  as  we  laugh  when  we  are  joyful,  and 
weep  when  we  are  sick  and  sorry;  so  long  as  we 
flush  with  anger,  or  grow  pale  with  fear,  so  long 
shall  we  thrill  to  a  golden  sunset,  the  cadence  of  an 
air,  or  the  gloomy  spaces  of  a  cathedral." 

Ethel  D.  Puffer. 


'  if 


AESTHETICS 

IT  is  William  McDougall  in  his  Social  Psychol- 
ogy who  claims  that  much  of  the  charm  of  true 
literature  lies  in  its  disclosures  of  the  personality 
of  the  author,  and  that  through  his  writings  "wc 
learn  to  grasp  in  some  degree  the  personality  of  the 
author  and  to  admire  him."  Prof.  Stanley  in  his  book 
Evolutionary  Psychology  of  the  Emotions  sums  the 
statement  more  concisely  by  the  expression,  "Style  is 
the  man."  If  ever  there  was  an  author  whose  works 
breathe  his  personality  and  are  filled  to  overflowing 
with  his  own  foibles  and  hobbies,  it  is  Maurice  Mae- 
terlinck. His  own  love  of  the  aesthetic  is  as  much 
reflected  in  his  writings  as  in  his  summer  home,  the 
Abbey  of  St.  Wandrille.  The  aesthetics  of  his  plays 
are  stamped  with  his  own  personal  character,  with 
the  modifications  of  environment  and  culture.  His 
inherent  love  of  the  beautiful  is  evidenced  upon  every 
page,  and  must  be  attributed  to  his  heredity. 

A  question  may  be  justly  raised  as  to  the  propriety 
and  correctness  of  attributing  to  an  author  the  opin- 
ions and  emotions  which  are  reflected  in  his  charac- 
ters. In  the  case  of  M.  Maeterlinck,  one  feels  justi- 
fied in  reaching  the  conclusion  that  they  are  "bone  of 
his  bone,  flesh  of  his  flesh,"  as  the  life  which  he  leads, 
with  its  peculiar  reactive  temperament,  the  aesthetic 
surroundings  of  his  summer  home  in  Normandy,  and 
his  Parisian  residence  at  Passy,  are  used  as  back- 
grounds for  so  many  of  his  stage-settings. 

His  small  vocabulary  and  the  almost  useless  repe- 
tition of  words,  phrases,  entire  lines,  is  due  to  his 

III 


F  'I 


1 1 2  Thg  Psychology  of  Maeterlinck 

environment,  for  this  is  the  method  of  speech  among 
the  common  people  of  Bruges,  Ghent,  and  their  out- 
lying districts.  He  has  used  it  for  purposes  of  real- 
ism and  modified  it  to  be  within  the  bounds  of  endur- 
ance, altho  it  does  sound  puerile  to  the  mind  not 
aware  of  it  as  a  characteristic  of  the  classes  of  per- 
sons of  whom  he  writes.  His  aesthetic  temperament 
and  love  of  the  beautiful  are  reflected  in  his  settings, 
almost  always  palaces,  castles,  gardens  with  inevita- 
ble marble  benches  and  pools  and  fountains  with 
marble  curbings,  hedgerows,  roses  and  flowers,  and 
even  the  suggested  hum  of  bees, — his  own  particular 
hobby.  The  introduction  of  priests  and  nuns  is  due 
to  his  education  at  the  hands  of  the  Fathers.  His 
love  of  St.  Wandrille  has  influenced  his  stage-mount- 
ings, and  in  reading  his  plays,  one  familiar  with  the 
Abbey  will  find  himself  involuntarily  placing  the 
characters  in  some  portion  of  the  Abbey  or  the 
grounds  in  its  vicinity. 

Then  his  own  love  of  seclusion,  his  retiring  per- 
sonality, are  displayed  in  narrowing  the  action  of  so 
many  of  his  plays  to  the  confines  of  an  island,  and  so 
circumscribing  his  action,  and  showing  the  affect  of 
this  narrow  environment  in  the  narrow,  one-purposed 
minds  of  his  characters,  whose  minds  seldom  seem 
great  enough  to  embrace  the  whole  world,  but  only 
the  very  small  segment  of  it  which  lies  within  the 
boundaries  of  their  Island.  This  limiting  of  his 
dramas  may  also  arise  because  he  doubts  himself, 
and  fears  that  he  may  get  too  far  astray  from  the 
harmonies  of  time,  place  and  incident,  as  he  showed 
a  strong  tendency  to  do  in  his  first  play.  The  Princess 
Maleine,  with  its  twenty-four  scenes  1 


JOYZELLE 

IN  the  character  of  Merlin  and  AricUe,  his  gen- 
ius, I  always  seem  to  see  Maeterlinck  himself, 
like  the  Puppet  Master  who  directed  the  fates 
of  the  dolls  which  impersonated  the  characters 
in   Maeterlinck's  Death  of   Tintagiles,   as  present- 
ed  at   the   Puppet   Theatre   in   Munich,   Germany. 
He  dangles  on   his   fingers  the   poor   persons   con- 
cerned,   and    plays    with    their    loves    as    he    will. 
Every  move  has  been  prearranged,  and  they  have 
almost    ceased    to    be    creatures    of    free    volition. 
The  play  is  typical  of  life,  and  the  Power  which 
governs   us,   apparently  allowinq;  us   to   follow   our 
own  wills,  and  yet  mapping  v.      our  every  move- 
ment,   causing    us    to    obey    biologic    laws    which 
were  founded  with  the  Universe  itself,  and  which  we 
obey  even  when  we  think  that  we  are  most  freely  fol- 
lowing our  own  desires    and  volitions.     For  exam- 
ple, some  chemical  properties  of  the  body  attract 
complimentary  properties  to  my  body,  and  cause  a 
friendship  to  spring  up,  or  else  cause  me  to  recoil 
from  the  other  being.     And  when  emotions  have  so 
changed  the  chemical  properties  of  the  constituents 
of  my  clay  and  water,  there  comes  a  revulsion  of  feel- 
ing, and  an  unexplicable  severing  of  friendship  which 
may  or  may  not  revive  in  later  years,  and  that,  too, 
depending  again  upon  a  chemical  retransformation, 
suggestive  of  Jat  familiar  trick  performed  by  the 
Magician  for  the  delight  of  the  small  boy,  when  he 
transforms  clear  water  into  the  semblance  of  ink,  and 

"3 


f 


il 


'    4i 


114  The  Psychology  of  Maeterlinck 

again  renders  the  liquid  translucent. 

In  the  character  of  Arielle  is  observed  a  very  pe- 
culiar doctrine  much  exploited  by  mystics,  especially 
by  the  class  who  believe  in  reincarnation^  and  which 
has  also  been  reflected  in  the  late  founder  of  the 
Christian  Science  Cult,  namely,  the  interchangeability 
of  a  sex,  or,  a  dual  personality,  as  it  were,  which  has 
not  become  a  separated  personality.  That  is,  Merlin 
is  a  man  with  all  the  passions  of  a  man,  even  the 
grossest,  whilst  his  Genius,  his  better-self,  as  I  prefer 
to  translate  the  French  word,  is  of  the  feminine  per- 
suasion. It  may  only  be  a  psychological  observation 
that  passions  are  tenderest  in  the  breast  of  woman, 
and  introduced  for  the  sake  of  opposing  Mother- 
love  against  Father-love,  or  it  may  be  that  in  his  own 
breast  there  exists  the  tenderness  of  woman,  as  is  the 
case  with  most  dramatic  genius.  The  late  Clyde 
Fitch  wrote  stronger  women  than  men,  altho  they 
were  all  afflicted  with  some  peculiar  quirk  of  charac- 
ter which  made  them  defective,  and  never  well-round- 
ed and  complete  embodiments  of  ideal  womanhood. 
Or,  another  reason,  and  which  I  surmise  to  be  the 
fact,  and  more  particularly  because  Joy/.elle  belongs 
to  the  transition  period  of  his  dramatic  production, 
which  occurred  after  his  marriage  to  the  beautiful 
Georgette  Le  Blanc,  and  is  one  of  his  most  recent 
plays,  he  has  written  into  the  character  of  Arielle  the 
influence,  conscious  and  unconscious,  which  his  wife, 
whom  he  terms  "his  other  self,"  "his  complemen- 
tary half,"  has  had  upon  himself  and  his  later  writ- 
ings. 

Maeterlinck  is  very  fond  of  Joyzelle.  Of  this 
character  he  savs,  "Joyzelle  is  a  spontaneous  creature, 


'.fi-rf\-  ■^^. 


JoyzelU 


"5 


full  of  life,  grace  and  love.  In  her  I  wish  to  illus- 
trate how  Life  and  Love  may  triumph  over  Death 
and  Fate,  and  above  all  to  encourage  Man  to  find 
new  motives  to  live  and  persevere  and  triumph." 

It  is  quite  probable  that  Joyzelle  is  an  allegory  to 
show  the  theories  of  telepathy,  and  that  "it  is  a  nor- 
mal means  of  communication  between  two  subjective 
mmds,  and  that  it  is  only  between  subjective  minds 
that  telepathy  can  be  employed.  The  London  Socie- 
ty for  Psychical  Research  has  demonstrated  beyond 
all  question  the  fact  that  telepathy  is  a  power  pos- 
sessed by  many." 

I  have  spent  considerable  time  striving  to  make  the 
four  characters  of  this  play  projections  of  the  one 
mind,  Merlin's.  If  one  believes  in  the  ability  of  the 
subjective  mind  to  project  phantasms,  veridical  ap- 
paritions, and  the  like,  one  may  assume  that  the  play 
stands  for  this  doctrine  and  theory.  "The  subjec- 
tive mind  of  man  appears  to  be  fond  of  allegory  as 
a  means  of  conveying  its  thoughts  or  Information 
above  the  threshold  of  consciousness."  It  finally 
suited  me  better  to  dismiss  it  as  merely  a  case  of  dual 
personality,  and  leave  the  lovers  as  normal  human 
beings. 

His  early  plays  show  Maeterlinck's  tendency  *o 
morbidness  in  a  marked  degree.  There  is  a  weari- 
some repetition  of  metaphors  of  death  and  blindness. 
Truly,  these  conditions  are  used  symbolically  to  sum- 
marize the  mental  states  of  the  characters,  but  they 
none  the  less  point  to  a  morbid  mental  condition  on 
the  part  of  the  author.  The  settings  of  these  plays 
are  in  cold,  stony  castles.     There  is  no  place  more 


I  ! 


IP 

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111 


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flKgi,^lkVfv«'^fi3'iB88gS5ga!ff>r-.: 


Z.  «;f.'-i^TMWP'-'"!5T3««C^T^"  '-•^^X 


1 1 6  The  Psychology  of  Maeterlinck 

cheerless,  not  even  excepting  the  gloomy  confines  of 
a  prison,  than  a  great  palace,  with  its  vistas  of  rooms 
filled  with  gilded  furniture,  the  very  atmosphere  pro- 
claiming to  the  casual  visitor  that  these  rooms  no 
longer,  if  ever,  resound  to  human  voice  and  step. 
Such  rooms  are  a  hollow  mockery  of  life,  and  be- 
speak the  quiet  of  the  tomb,  and  the  persons  who 
endeavor  to  exist  in  them,  are  as  much  dead  to  the 
world  and  its  needs  as  are  those  from  whom  the 
breath  of  life  has  already  flown. 

His  characters  are  usually  sickly,  and  with  a  mys- 
terious, baffling  kind  of  illness.  When  they  go  forth 
from  these  chilly,  cheerless  rooms,  they  walk  upon 
marble  terraces,  or  stroll  in  dank  .gardens  o'er  grown 
with  rank  vegetation,  and  rest,  meditating  upon  the 
dark  side  of  life,  seated  upon  a  chilly,  moss-grown 
bench  of  clammy  marble,  beside  some  stagnant  pool, 
or  bottomless  well,  and  always  in  the  shadow  of  the 
chilly,  drab,  stone  buildings,  in  some  gloomy,  for- 
saken spot  where  the  rays  of  the  sun  seldom  pierce 
through  the  hazy  clouds.  The  very  heavens  are  us- 
ually as  shrouded  from  mortal  gaze  as  is  to  the  mel- 
ancholy mind  veiled  the  realization  of  any  world  be- 
yond the  narrow  confines  of  their  forbidding  cas- 
tle-gates! Some  more  venturesome  souls  penetrate 
into  the  hunting-preserves  beyond,  and  the  aspect  of 
the  scene,  if  possible,  is  there  more  dark  and  forbid- 
ding than  in  the  private  Park.  The  moat  which  sur- 
rounds the  castle,  or  the  waters  which  hollowly  re- 
sound about  the  lonely  island  upon  which  the  palace 
is  so  frequently  situated,  are  symbolical  of  the  social 
caste  which  separates  the  figurants  in  the  play  from 
their  humbler  brothers  and  sisters  of  the  living,  vi- 


Joyzelle  ny 

tally  throbbing  world  of  reality.  One  need  not  won- 
der that  the  minds  of  the  characters  are  twisted  and 
contorted,  as  they  live  their  lives  beneath  these  sul- 
len, leaden  skies,  by  the  side  of  wildly  raging  ocean, 
or  slowly  moving  canal.  Yet,  one  is  impressed  with 
this  weird,  mysterious  beauty,  which  bespeaks  the 
mental  agitation  which  we  can't  comprehend,  and 
emphasises  so  vividly  the  fact  that  these  people  are 
existing  in  a  world  so  very  foreign  to  our  ken. 

Maeterlinck's  exteriors  are   replete  with  all  the 
minor  details  of  nature,  and  show  a  familiarity  with 
horticulture.     He   resorts  to  the  asphodel  in    The 
Blind  as  typical  o(  death,  and  a  beautiful,  attractive 
death,  which  be^/eaks  the  extreme  throes  of  melan- 
choly, such  as  are  the  throes  of  self-feeling,  in  its 
supreme  negation,  when  one  will  seek  suicide  as  sur- 
cease.   "It  is  a  merciful  provision  of  nature  that  the 
nearer  we  approach  death,  the  less  we  fear  it.    This 
law  is  universal.    It  is  only  in  the  vigor  of  youth  and 
manhood  that  death  is  looked  upon  with  horror.  The 
aged  view  its  near  approach  with  calm  serenity."  The 
humming  bees  which  fill  this  scene,  and  many  other 
of  Maeterlinck's  landscapes,  are  so  peculiarly  char- 
acteristic of  Maeterlinck  and  his  fondness  for  his 
apiary,  that  it  stamps  him  as  author  of  these  plays 
almost  as  surely  as  the  thumb-sketch  of  the  engraver 
appended  to  the  corner  of  his  work. 

The  author's  temperament  is  further  emphasired 
by  the  repeated  exclamations  of  his  characters,  "We 
are  lost!"  And  again  that  cry  of  the  child  in  Prin- 
cess Maleine  who  shrieks  without  the  door  of  the 
chamber  where  his  mother  has  just  murdered  the  lit- 
tle Princess,  "My  mamma  is  lost!"  It  is  strange,  too, 


I 


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I 

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ii8  The  Psychology  of  Maeterlinck 

that  Maeterlinck  should  have  been  so  affected  with 
the  atheistic  temperament  after  so  many  years  of  re- 
ligious influence  of  the  Monks.  But  this  may  only 
be  due  to  weariness  of  teaching,  and  a  Nietzchian  de- 
sire to  demonstrate  one's  freedom — of  body  and 
soul. 

The  Blue  Bird  indicates  his  preference  for  the  dog 
rather  than  the  cat.  He  makes  Tylo  a  very  attractive 
creature  who  sticks  to  his  master,  and  is  always  ready 
to  do  his  bidding,  even  after  he  has  been  chastised 
for  striving  to  protect  his  little  master.  At  >  11  times 
he  is  the  faithful  friend  of  man.  But  Tylette,  on  the 
other  hand,  is  made  to  be  fawning  and  deceitful,  with 
a  meek,  slick  knavery,  which  plots  the  undoings  of 
the  master,  and  when  beaten  in  fair  fight,  and  suffer- 
ing deserved  punishment  for  trickery,  whines  com- 
plaint and  causes  poor  Tylo  to  be  again  punished. 
His  psychology  of  animal  nature  is  good  and  speaks 
of  keen  observation,  but  one  does  feel  that  the  cat  is 
painted  in  colors  a  shade  too  grey. 

The  influence  of  the  priests,  and  his  study  of  the 
Old  Testament  seem  to  be  reflected  in  his  fondness 
for  three  and  seven, — the  sacred  numbers,  and  num- 
bers always  closely  associated  with  mysticism. 

Maeterlinck's  women  are  almost  invariably  de- 
ceitful, and  seem  to  hold  virtue  at  low  price.  How- 
ever, most  of  them  show  a  wonderful  tenacity  of  pur- 
pose and  no  sacrifice  seems  too  great  to  make  for  the 
one  they  love.  The  contrast  between  the  love  of 
man  and  woman  is  wonderfully  drawn  in  act  one  of 
Jnyzelle,  when  Lanceor  protests  that  much  as  he 
craves  to  see  Joyzelle  again,  he  will  bow  to  the  will 
of  Merlin  and  refrain,  if  her  life  is  to  be  the  stake. 


Joyzelle 


119 


Joyzelle,  on  the  contrary,  protests  that  she  will  see 
him  again,  no  matter  if  her  life  do  pay  the  penalty. 
To  be  sure,  it  is  her  life,  and  she  is  privileged  to  re- 
gard it  less  preciously  than  Lanceor.  But  Lanceor  is 
characteristically  man,  with  his  desire  for  love  here 
and  now,  whilst  Joyzelle  is  woman,  who  looks  with 
hope  toward  a  paradise  of  heavenly  bliss,  an  eternity 
of  love.  It  is  the  doctrine  of  most  of  mankind,  that 
religion  is  all  right  for  women  and  children,  but  for 
men  I — 

Symbolism  is  well-marked  in  Aglavaine  and  Sely- 
sette,  where  Maeterlinck  indicates  the  entrance  of 
jealousy  by  the  appearance  of  the  green  bird  which 
Sclysette  alone  sees,  at  first,  and  which  she  admires 
bc-'use  it  is  beautiful,  but  which  the  more  experienced 
Aglavaine,  when  she  catches  sight  of  little  unsophis- 
ticated Selysette  playfully  endeavoring  to  catch  it  as 
it  hovers  about  the  parapet  of  the  tower,  fears.  To 
her  it  is  a  warning  and  a  portent  that  jealousy  has 
come,  and  that  one  of  the  twain  must  give  way  to  the 
other,  and  she  decides,  as  she  ought,  to  be  the  one  to 
go.  But  the  green  bird  is  a  fascination  for  Selysette 
which  she  can  not  escape,  and  which  causes  her  death. 
Maeterlinck  is  symbolical  in  indicating  directly  that 
it  was  Jealousy  which  caused  the  movement  toward 
death,  and  that  the  fall  is  but  a  secondary  factor. 


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ALLADINE  AND  PALOMIDES 

ALLADINE  AND  PALOMIDES  is  reek- 
ing  with  symbolism  and  aesthcticism  and 
an  interpretation  of  its  closing  scenes  will 
prove  of  interest  to  the  reader. 
"Wc  see  what  we  desire  to  see,  and  so  close  our 
eyes  to  the  undesired"  is  a  general  rule  of  psycholo- 
gists of  which  Maeterlinck  has  taken  advantage  when 
he  conducts  his  hero  and  heroine  to  the  disgusting 
realms  of  the  subterranean  caverns  of  the  castle. 
Here  they  are  so  overwhelmed  with  the  sense  of  hor- 
ror and  dread  that  consciousness  becomes  dead- 
ened and  the  aesthetic  sense  rises  superior  to  the  hor- 
ror and  dread  which  would  naturally  arise  in  the 
mind  of  those  facing  a  death  from  starvation  and 
thirst.  There  was  at  first  an  acute  physical  pain, — 
pain  as  a  fact  without  any  realization  of  it,  and  the 
attributing  of  it  to  their  light  bandages  came  as  a 
secondary  and  slow-dawning  emotion  of  concentra- 
tion, and  forced  them  to  tear  off  their  fetters  and  eye 
bandages.  After  the  first  paroxysms  of  grief  and 
sorrow,  the  emotion  of  love,  of  sex,  if  you  will,  be- 
came so  intense  and  conscious,  that  the  lovers  became 
unconscious  to  the  grim  realities,  and  when  the  efforts 
of  the  faithful  sisters  without  the  castle  had  broken 
loose  a  morsel  of  cement,  and  permitted  one  ray  of 
glorious  sunshine  to  enter  the  murky  depths,  the 
mental  intelligence  was  swept  by  the  glory  of  that 
ray,  and,  canied  away  with  emotion,  began  to  paint 
the  cavern  in  glorious  colorings.    The  walls,  sweat- 

120 


Alladine  and  Palomides 


121 


ing  with  dampness,  were  transformed;  the  drops  of 
moisture  catching  the  ray  of  light  reflected  it,  and 
instantly  the  mind  transformed  it  into  crystals  with 
the  scintillations  of  diamonds.  The  poor,  withered 
miserable  weeds  and  the  poisonous  became  silvery 
flowers;  and  the  ray  falling  on  the  dank  waters  of  the 
pool  in  which  the  decomposing  body  of  the  limb,  it- 
self typical  of  the  disintegrating  life  and  happiness 
of  the  heroine,  became  pale  blue  ripples  of  an  invit- 
ing pool,  which  soothed  the  tortured  feelings  of  the 
two  souls  imprisoned  in  this  awful  place.  They  be- 
came quite  insensible  to  a  sense  of  danger  fron^  slip- 
ping, and  just  remained  lost  in  ecstatic  emotion. 

But  when  the  sisters  had  dislodged  more  cement, 
and  the  light  became  brighter,  the  emotions  were  first 
those  of  discomfort,  of  shock  because  of  the  intensi- 
ty of  the  light  following  the  semi-darkness,  and  then, 
as  that  sensation  passed,  there  came  into  their  minds 
the  emotion  of  reality  and  disgust,  painful,  as  is  that 
of  one  awakening  to  the  realities  of  life  after  the 
pleasant  experiences  of  hypnotic  sleep,  and  slowly  it 
dawned  on  the  twain  that  they  were  not  disembodied 
spirits  in  Fairy  Caves  of  Nirvana,  but  two  very  hu- 
man mortals  in  a  loathsome  place,  and  that  there 
still  remained  for  them  greater  suffering  and  pain, 
perhaps  the  pain  of  slow  torture  at  the  hands  of  the 
mad  king,  but  the  certainty  of  mental  pain  quite  as 
real  and  vivid  because  of  the  impossibility  of  ever 
reconciling  their  miserable  lives  to  the  exigencies  of 
life  and  its  stern  realities,  the  hopelessness  of  recon- 
ciling caste  with  caste,  of  bridging  the  social  chasms 
which  separated  them,  for  the  reader  will  recall  that 
Alladine  said  herself,  "I  was  not  made  to  dwell  in 


I 
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!    -i) 


122  The  Psychology  of  Maeterlinck 

palaces." 

Then,  suddenly,  the  subconscious  (subjective) 
ceased  to  operate  and  sank  below  the  level  of  the 
objective  mind  into  its  proper  place,  and  they  lost  the 
sense  of  balance,  because  of  the  intensity  of  conscious- 
ness realizing  consciousness  which  makes  one  become 
unconscious  because  of  its  intensity;  and  slipping 
they  fell  into  the  slimy  waters  of  the  stagnant  cess- 
pool. Here  again  is  symbolism  of  the  inevitableness 
of  their  Fate,  the  pool  typifying  the  bodily  passions 
to  which  their  love  would  force  them  to  succumb, 
when  they  had  reared  for  themselves  an  ethical  and 
spiritual  ideal  v/hich  was  as  Mount  Olympus  in  its 
heights  of  purity  and  exhaltation.  But  the  sisters, 
symbolical  of  the  better-self,  enter  and  rescue  them. 

In  the  last  act  we  find  the  lovers  separated  by  vis- 
sible  walls,  symbolical  agi^ln  of  the  dividing  line  of 
caste,  suffering  from  typhoid  as  a  result  of  the  plunge 
into  those  stagnant,  putrid  waters,  for  "anything 
which  weakens  or  depresses  our  subconscious  mind 
exposes  us  to  disease  by  rendering  us  less  able  to  re- 
sist its  encroachments."  These  waters  were  symbolic 
of  sin.  They  call  to  one  another  as  their  souls  had 
long  since  called,  answering  with  earthly  voice ;  and 
at  last,  each  passes  from  the  body  of  clay  to  the 
spiritual  realm  where  belonged  these  tender  souls, 
too  spiritual  in  their  loves  for  this  world,  to  be  joined 
in  the  ethereal  atmosphere  of  the  spiritual  existence. 
"Death,"  says  Mr.  Evans,  "merely  releases  the  soul 
from  corporeal  restraints  and  enable?  't  to  seek  a  hab- 
itation better  suited  to  the  gratification  of  its  cher- 
ished  desires,  in  obedience  to  the  law  of  spiritual 
affinity  and  attraction." 


Alladine  and  Palomides 


123 


By  way  of  vivid  contrast  to  this  poetical  play,  let 
us  glance  at  the  startlingly  realistic,  almost  sordid 
play,  The  Blind. 


»)- 


■;i?i». 

if 
it 


if 


V  1 


THE  BLIND 

FA  IE  and  mysticism  combine  in  this  play  to 
a  remarkable  degree.  The  curtain  rises  dis- 
closing a  gloomy,  impenetrable  forest,  with 
occasional  gleams  of  light  from  the  twink- 
Img  stars.  The  whole  setting  is  typical  of 
the  life  of  man,  set  down  as  it  is  in  a  dark- 
some maze  of  doubt  and  fear,  and  lighted  only 
occasionally  as  a  zephyr  from  some  far  off,  unknown 
regions,  brushes  aside  the  interlacing  branches,  and 
discloses  for  an  instant  the  stars  of  heaven  in  their 
everlasting  orbits,  the  messengers  of  hope  and  peace, 
where  certainty  and  fixity  abide  always. 

In  the  center,  on  a  decayed  log,  sits  upright,  with 
open,   staring,   yet  unseeing  eyes,  the  good  Priest, 
who  is  typical  in  himself  and  his  seat  of  what  his 
calling  represents.     The  decaying  log  is  typical  of 
the  decadent  dogmas  which  man  is  rapidly  outgrow- 
ing;  the  asphodel  near  him  is  the  symbolism  of  in- 
evitable death  to  which  we  all  approach,  the  near- 
ness of  death  to  us  in  our  moments  of  greatest  peace 
and  happiness.     His  eyes  are  there,  but  he  is  of  the 
blind  the  most  blind,  for  he  can  see  none  of  the  beau- 
ties which  still  surround  him.    And  yet  the  peaceful- 
ness  of  his  face  is  symbolic  of  the  serenity  of  the  soul 
within,  of  the  great  knowledge  and  wisdom  which  is 
his,  now  that  his  spirit  has  burst  the  gates  of  doubt, 
and  revealed  the  true,  the  one  reality  of  our  being, 
the  great  world  which  lies  beyond  the  present,  dreary, 
round  of  existence.     On  earth  he  had  wandered, 

124 


The  Blind 


125 


seeking  the  sunshine,  and  leading  forth,  against  their 
will,  the  blind  who  now  surround  him  in  the  hour  of 
his  triumph,— the  blind  not  only  in  a  physical  sense, 
but  in  the  spiritual,  unable  to  enjoy  the  warmth  of  the 
sun,  because  they  see  not  the  source  of  the  blessed, 
warming  rays,  the  poor  unfortunates  who  preferred 
the  warmth  of  the  kitchen  hearth,  the  security  of  the 
chilly  stone  walls  and  narrow  confines  of  their  re- 
stricted sphere,  the  Asylum,  to  the  vastness  of  Na- 
ture's Cathedral,  the  beautiful  forest,  with  its  pil- 
lars of  enduring  oak;  its  vault,  the  heavens;  its 
carpet,  the  leaves  and  mosses;  its  pews,  the  fallen 
oak;  its  choir,  sweeter  than  mortal  choir,  the  hymning 
birds  and  buzzing  bees. 

On  one  side  sit  six  blind  men,  doubters.  On  the 
opposite,  six  women,  three  of  whom  are  steadfast  in 
their  faith  and  loyalty  to  their  spiritual  guide,  and 
who  never  cease  in  their  monotonous  repetition  of  pre- 
scribed prayers.  One  woman  has  gone  mad  with  the 
loneliness  of  her  life,  but  at  the  moment  of  her  own 
disintegration  of  personality,  she  has  given  birth  to  a 
new  hope,  a  tiny  babe,  symbolic  of  all  that  is  purest 
and  best,  and  now  in  the  hour  of  their  crisis,  they  turn 
to  this  child  and  would  fulfill  the  prophecy  of  old  that 
"a  child  shall  lead  them."  One  of  the  men  seizes 
the  little  fellow  and  raises  him  aloft,  hoping  that  his 
cry  of  terror  and  admiration  as  his  eyes  greet  the 
sun,  which  now,  alas,  has  set  in  a  physical  and 
spiritual  sense,  will  give  them  the  direction  and  so 
guide  them  back  to  their  narrow  confines  from  which, 
like  many  whose  thoughts  and  mediations  have  wan- 
dered far,  they  vow  that  they  never  again  will  leave. 

But  there  is  another  there,  a  young  girl,  who  has 


fl'j 


\  1 


i 


i    »^ 


126  Ths  Psychology  of  Maeterlinck 

not  quite  lost  the  spiritual  vision,  altho  her  physical 
eyes  have  been  sealed  in  darkness  since  she  was  a  lit- 
tle child.  She  reaches  out  toward  the  guide,  in  pure 
innocence,  trusting  that  he  still  will  show  the  way. 
The  one  man  who  can  still  distinguish  the  day  from 
the  darkness  is  confused,  as  one  who  treads  a  laby- 
rinth, for  the  glimmer  of  light  is  too  faint  to  awaken 
his  poor,  blinded  vision.  The  familiar  dog  comes  to 
them,  and  he  follows  the  instinct,  which  should  re- 
side in  man  whom  the  world  has  not  perverted,  and 
goes  directly  to  the  spiritual  guide,  to  find  him  hushed 
to  his  bark,  his  hand  cold  and  irresponsive  to  the  lick 
of  his  tongue.  "Animals  in  common  with  men,  are 
possessed  of  a  duality  of  mind;  the  subjective  in  the 
former  being  proportionately  stronger  than  in  the 
latter,  as  is  shown  in  their  stronger  instincts." 

In  horror  the  blind  discover  the  awful  truth  that 
death,  our  enemy,  has  entered  into  their  midst,  and 
that  they  are  alone,  lost  in  the  forest,  the  wilderness 
of  their  doubts  and  fears.  In  the  death  of  the  Priest, 
Maeterlinck  shows  again  his  accurate  psychology, 
for  the  Priest  steals  away  so  quietly  that  his  friends 
do  not  know  that  he  has  gone.  To  quote  Saleeby, 
"Normal  death,  if  the  phrase  be  permitted,  is  a  pain- 
less occurrence,  usually  preceded  by  a  gradual  loss  of 
consciousness,  entailing  no  more  suffering  than  going 
to  sleep,  which  it  most  closely  resembles,  literally  as 
well  as  poetically."  Now  that  it  is  too  late  they  cry 
to  him  who  never  will  return.  The  little  babe  cries 
ceaselessly.  All  shudder  and  are  anxious  to  go  home, 
—but  whither?  Which  is  the  path?  Will  no  one 
come  ?  Will  no  one  aid  ?  Must  they  all  perish  mis- 
erably, alone  there  in  the  forest  with  Death  in  their 


The  Blind 


127 


midst?  They  can  hear  nothing  but  the  steady  drop- 
ping of  the  dead  leaves,  for  their  faith  has  long  since 
gone,  and  it  is  a  more  serious  blindness  which  afflicts 
them  than  the  mere  loss  of  physical  vision.  But 
listen, — ^the  young  girl  is  speaking.  She  insists  that 
there  are  steps.  Steps  which  are  approaching,  steps 
of  one  who  will  guide  and  again  lead  the  way.  Eag- 
erly she  presses  forward  to  meet — ? 

Here  Maeterlinck  leaves  the  allegory  for  each  of 
us  to  solve.  But  is  it  not  evident  that  it  is  the  step 
of  the  dear  old  Priest,  incarnated,  as  it  were,  in  one  of 
his  followers,  one  of  the  three  loving  Nuns  who  so 
long  have  cared  for  these,  his  blind  charges,  who  is 
approaching,  and  who  will  continue  the  work  which 
the  Priest  has  surrendered,  and  endeavor  to  lead  the 
blind  back  to  the  Asylum  which  will  now  become  a 
precious  re.'uge,  like  the  refuge  sought  by  the  guilty 
soul  who  fain  would  escape  from  the  paths  of  dark- 
ness and  sin  ? 

It  is  quite  probable  that  in  the  moment  of  his  dis- 
solution the  Priest  left  behind  a  powerful  telepathic 
message  which  was  received  by  one  or  more  of  the 
Nuns,  and  which  impression  upon  the  subjective  suc- 
ceeded in  rising  into  the  realms  of  the  objective  suf- 
ficiently to  guide  her  to  the  spot  where  the  blind  were 
waiting.  The  minds  of  the  Priest  and  the  Nuns 
would  be  in  ideal  rapport  for  the  accomplishment  of 
this  thought-transference. 

"For  some  we  loved,  the  loveliest  and  the  best 
That  from  his  Vintage  rolling  Time  hath  prest, 
Have  drunk  their  Cup  a  Round  or  two  before, 
And  one  by  one  crept  silently  to  rest." 

Omar  Khayyam. 


»   j* 


fj  i 


f;^ 


ii 


THE  DEATH  OF  TINTAGILES 

THE  statement  that  Maeterlinck  was  form- 
erly the  "apostle  of  death  and  the  grave," 
and  that  gloom  was  the  keynote,  with 
death  always  the  triumphant,  conquering 
one,  is  illustrated  better  by  none  of  the  early  plays 
than  The  Death  of  Tintagiles. 

Tintagiles  is  the  frail  little  brother  who  has  been 
oent  away  to  school,  and  there  his  health  has  weak- 
ened by  reason  of  unhealthy  surroundings,  and  then, 
as  a  last  resort,  he  is  sent  to  the  Island  where  are  his 
two  loving,  devoted  sisters,  in  the  vain  hope  that 
they  m  ly  be  able  to  nurse  him  back  to  health  and 
strength,  and  that  the  breath  of  fresh  air  of  their 
home  may  paint  roses  on  his  cheeks.     But  at  their 
xery  first  meeting  Ygraine  sees  the  sign  of  death 
on  his  pale  brow,  and  prophesies,  "Thy  first  night 
will  be  troubled,  Tintagiles."    Then,  as  she  sits  and 
(^raws  him  to  her  side,  she  tenderly  says,  "I  thought 
thee  so  far  away,  — and  so  secure."     What  a  world 
of  sadness,  what  pathos  there  lies  in  that  one  sentence 
broken   by  a  sigh  wrung  from  the  depths   of  her 
troubled  heart!     Elven  in  the  moment  of  our  great- 
est happiness,  when  we  feel  most  secure,  there  comes 
the  insidious  seed  of  death  to  undermine  (he  fortress 
of  our  soul.    Then  she  asks,  "Who  made  thee  come 
here?"  — She  would  verify  her  own  suspicions,  but 
the  child  is  not  aware  of  his  unhappy  fate,  and  an- 
swers, oh,  so  simply,  so  innocently,  "I  do  not  know, 
little  sister."    "I  do  not  know!"    None  of  us  know 

128 


The  Death  of  Tintj^giles 


129 


f4 


when  Death  has  made  his  mark.  He  comes  silently 
in  the  depths  of  the  night,  or  swoops  down  from  the 
blazing  heavens  of  midday  and  singles  out  for  his 
own  the  man,  the  woman,  the  child,  passing  in  the 
throng  of  the  busy  street.  And  he  bids  us  to  leave. 
To  give  up  all  that  is  most  precio?'/,,  all  that  is  life, 
all  that  is  ourselves,  to  go,  alas,  '/hither? 

Pressed  further  Tintagiles  ."calls  "It  was  the 
Queen's  will."  The  emotion  o  tear,  of  mistrust, 
changes  quickly  to  one  of  horror  realized,  for 
Ygraine  knows  only  too  well  who  is  this  Queen  that 
innocent  little  Tintagiles  mentions,  and  who  willed 
that  he  should  come  to  this  lonely  island.  Had  not 
this  Queen  carried  away  her  father,  her  mother,  her 
brothers,  and  left  only  the  four  of  them,  herself,  her 
sister  Bellangere,  the  old  retainer  Aglova):;,  and  lit- 
tle Tintagiles?  And  now  this  Queen  must  have  him, 
tool  She  ceased  to  be  astonished  now  at  anything, 
even  at  the  fact  that  the  sailors  who  brought  the 
child  did  not  tell  him  why  he  was  coming  hither. 

Then,  in  one  of  those  remarkably  beautiful  pas- 
sages which  abound  in  Maeterlinck,  Ygraine  begins 
to  tell  the  child  her  own  sad  story,  filled  with  meta- 
phor and  philosophy,  and  the  richest  of  symbolism. 
She  had  lived  like  a  blind  person  on  this  island,  she 
had  stumbled  along  in  the  darkness  of  ignorance,  liv- 
ing close  to  nature,  seeing  in  the  flight  of  a  bird  only 
a  bird,  and  in  "the  trembling  of  a  leaf  or  the  open- 
ing of  a  rose"  nothing  but  an  ordinary  event.  She 
had  failed  to  grasp  the  underlying  meanings,  to  ap- 
preciate the  master-hand  directing  their  movement, 
to  see  in  them  a  portent  of  hope,  of  joy.  She  could 
not  hear  the  voice  of  nature  which  abounded  on  every 


Ml 


i!  3 


M 


( 


130  The  Psychology  of  Maeterlinck 

hand,  but  was  affected  only  by  the  thud  of  fruit  as 
it  fell  to  the  earth.  Neither  could  she  read  in  the 
fall  of  fruit,  the  falling  of  souls  which  had  reached 
their  hour  of  perfection,  of  complete  ripening,  and 
in  that  same  instant,  when  the  fulness  of  their  glory 
was  being  realized,  had  been  separated  from  their 
mother  to  fall  to  the  earth,  and  return  whence  they 
had  come.  All  this  filled  her  with  horror,  so  that 
she  would  have  fled,  would  have  escaped  the  work 
of  the  day,  her  share  in  the  plan  of  the  Universe. 
But  one  fact  looms  up  ever  persistent,  the  gloomy 
castle  which  stands  for  the  tomb,  and  where  dwells 
the  horrible  Queen  who  can  be  satisfied  by  death 
alone,  the  Queen  whom  no  one  does  see,  who  no  one 
can  see,  who  is  old,  "the  mother  of  our  mother,"  who 
sends  her  emissaries  to  do  her  bidding,  but  herself 
sits  day  in  and  day  out,  insatiate  in  her  demands, 
and  always  demanding  the  one  most  precious  to  us. 
Ygraine  is  so  under  the  influence  of  this  emotion,  this 
horror  of  death,  that  she  can  no  longer  laugh.  The 
awfulness  of  the  tomb  is  always  on  ner  mental  hori- 
zon; do  what  she  may,  turn  where  she  will,  there  it 
stands,  casting  its  shadow  over  her  dwelling,  turning 
the  blue  of  the  mountains  to  darkness.  She  is  a 
mclanchondriac  and  not  even  the  joy  of  having  little 
Tintagiles  at  her  side  can  cheer  her  or  divert  her 
from  her  mournful  broodings. 

When  we  meet  Bellangere  in  the  castle,  we  see  at 
once  that  she,  too,  has  come  under  the  awful  spell, 
and  is  bordering  on  the  same  dissolution  of  the  mind, 
but  she  has  had  the  courage  to  try  and  pry  into  the 
mystery  of  death  to  learn  what  might  lie  beyond  the 
gloomy  portals,  and  has  followed  along  the  dreary 


The  Death  of  T'lntagiles 


131 


corridors,  lighted  by  flickering  lamps,  the  rays  of 
light  which  have  from  time  to  time  appeared  from 
the  Borderland,  to  give  ourage  and  hope.  This 
symbolism  shows  the  mysticism  of  Maeterlinck  to  a 
remarkable  degree,  and  makes  one  wonder  how  much 
weight  he  may  place  in  Spiritualism.  He  makes  Bel- 
langere  push  on  in  her  investigations  until  she  has  so 
near  penetrated  the  veil  separating  this  world  and  the 
other  as  to  hear  voices,  but  her  astonishment  was 
great,  for  the  voices  were  not  sad,  but  gay.  She  had 
never  been  able  to  realize  that  there  could  be  any- 
thing but  darkness  and  horror  beyond  the  door  of 
the  tomb,  simply  because  the  threshold  was  so  dimly 
lighted.    She  belongs  to  "those  of  little  faith." 

Maeterlinck  has  been  accused  by  many  critics  as 
teaching  in  his  earlier  works  Paganism;  and  surely, 
the  doubts  and  dismays  of  Bellangere  with  her  Sty- 
gian ideas  of  the  grave  as  a  gloomy  region  ruled  over 
by  a  cruel  Proserpina,  would  seem  to  justify  this  ac- 
cusation. But,  her  consciousness  made  her  hear  that 
which  she  desired  to  hear,  and  her  own  voice,  which 
she  believed  to  be  a  voice  emanating  from  the  other 
side  of  that  closed  door,  was  claiming  the  child  Tin- 
tagiles.  Even  she  was  imbued  with  the  notion  that 
Tintagiles  was  to  die,  and  that  idea  made  the  voice 
materialize.  She  seems  to  have  had  the  gift  of 
clairaudience. 

Ygraine  reflects  the  Christian  doctrines  and  sug- 
gests that  tears  and  prayers  will  turn  away  the  inevit- 
able. She  says  that  men  have  feared  the  grim  old 
lady  always,  but  women  have  been  strong,  and  where 
men  have  failed,  women  have  sometimes  won.  She 
makes  a  wonderful  resolve,  considering  her  own  sick 


132  The  Psychology  of  Maeterlinck 


temperament,  when  she  masters  her  mind  and  by 
sheer  force  of  will,  fortifies  her  trembling  soul  to 
fight  a  grim  fight  which  shall  win.  This  speech  is 
wonderfully  built  up  from  the  point  of  a  psychologist, 
for  she  begins  with  a  hopeless  utterance,  "We  are 
alone!" —  Then  she  suggests  prayer. —  Then 
tears. —  Then  she  weakens  in  decision,  and  is 
ready  to  compromise,  and  begins  an  argument 
why  Death  may  spare  them. —  Then  her  cour- 
age wanes,  she  begins  to  doubt  herself,  her  strength, 
to  admit  that  Death  will  drop  a  heavy  stone 
upon  her,  perhaps.  —  But  suddenly,  one  of  those 
most  inexplicable  psychic  changes  occurs,  the  sub- 
jective becomes  the  stronger,  and  negatives  the 
objective  intelligence,  and  she  is  filled  with  trium- 
phant strength,  and  announces  that  where  man  has 
failed  woman  shall  conquer.  In  that  speech  she  has 
passed  through  all  the  agony  of  a  soul  self-accused 
by  sin,  and  has  risen  sublimely  and  triumphantly 
above  it.  It  is  a  remarkable  passage,  and  one  who 
studies  it  must  feel  that  it  is  beyond  the  powers  of 
living  actress  to  get  from  the  lines  all  the  emotion 
which  lies  there,  al!  the  underlying  feeling,  the  sym- 
bolism, the  philosophy,  the  history  of  the  world,  the 
story  of  the  passion,  the  triumph  of  religion.  It  is 
ovei powering,  amazing!  Bellangere  does  not  seem 
able  to  enter  into  this  emotional  transition  of 
Ygraine,  but  accepts  it  as  a  fact,  and  humbly  says, 
"I  stay  with  thee."  She  is  like  the  faithful  women 
who  remained  by  the  Saviour  to  the  very  end,  the 
women  who  were  stronger  and  braver  than  the  many 
brawny  men  who  had  cowardly  fled. 

To  the  resolve  Aglovale  also  accedes.    He  is  an 


The  Death  of  Tintagiles 


133 


old,  old  man.  Here  Maeterlinck  has  made  the  won- 
derful contrast  which  exists  in  human  nature,  the 
religion  which  the  young  accept  without  question,  and 
the  religion  which  the  old,  who  have  been  through 
the  battles  of  life,  and  are  weakened  by  many 
wounds,  who  are  tired,  weary,  feeling  that  there  is  no 
help  for  them,  turn  to  as  a  means  of  possible  salva- 
tion. But  Aglovale  is  not  filled  with  the  courageous- 
ness  of  youth  at  his  side.  He  admits  that  he  has 
often  met  defeat,  that  probably  he  will  again  meet 
defeat.  His  is  not  an  encouraging,  comforting  na- 
ture, but  is  of  the  sort  which  drags  like  a  millstone 
around  one's  neck.  Ygraine,  who  had  never  sus- 
pected that  beneath  the  brawny  exterior  of  the  old 
war-hero  lay  any  religious  emotion,  is  astonished  that 
now  he  will  add  his  strength  to  theirs.  And  then 
Aglovale  sums  up  his  life  in  an  aesthetically  beauti- 
ful passage  which  one  would  fain  keep  in  his  memory 
forever.  He  begins  with  youth,— "They  have  all 
tried." —  "But  at  the  last  moment  they  have  lost 
their  strength."  They  have  become  wayside  Chris- 
tians, and  been  "spewed  from  the  mouth  as  neither 
hot  nor  cold."  Then  he  recalls  his  own  weary, 
weakend  state,  and  tells  how  tired  his  feet  are,  and 
yet,  at  Death's  bidding,  he,  too,  would  leave  all  and 
gladly  follow  up  the  stair  into  that  "far  bourne  from 
which  no  traveller  returneth."  It  is  not  the  speech 
of  youth  who  believes  in  success,  and  who  is  half- 
heartedly entering  into  the  lists,  for  he  feels  the  call 
of  this  new  master.  His  is  a  divided  heart.  He  is 
suffering  with  ennui,— world-weariness,— he  has  tried 
and  exhausted  every  emotion,  there  remains  no  inter- 
est in  life,  and  when  one  ceases  to  have  a  new,  fresh 


%\ 


m 


i  '.;■■ 

I'  Vi 


U 


-    ; 

m 


m 


It 


I  ! 


134  The  Psychology  of  Maeterlinck 

interest  in  the  things  about  him,  he  begins  to  decay, 
and  compltte  disintegration  is  at  hand.  He  admits 
that  his  courage  is  gone,  and  yet  he  would  help  them, 
for  he  is  not  quite  insensible  to  the  emotion  of  pity. 
This  fact  is  strange,  too,  for  the  senile  are  fain  to 
become  calloused  to  the  sufferings  of  those  about 
them.  Perhaps  their  own  inward  griefs  are  too 
intense,  or,  more  likely,  they  know  how  useless  griev- 
ing and  sorrow  are.  and  are  looking  back  on  life  as 
an  adult  upon  the  toys  and  gamer-  of  his  childhood. 
In  a  reflective  state  one  can  gaze  back  on  his  own 
life,  ar  d,  whilst  realizing  how  poigant  was  the  grief 
over  the  broken  doll,  yet  how  trivial  was  that  grief 
in  the  light  of  life's  after-experiences.  The  reflective 
mood  is  wonderfully  useful  as  a  means  of  compari- 
son of  past  and  present,  and  helps  to  make  us  all 
philosophers. 

Then  Aglovale  bids  them  wake  the  child,  and  hold 
him  close.  This  command  evidently  indicates  that  it 
was  a  malady  which  might  affect  his  heart  so  that  in 
deep  sleep  he  would  pass  away,  and  recognizes  that 
Sleep  is  the  Sister  of  Death,  and  that  it  is  easy  then, 
when  the  personality  is  not  in  its  mansion,  for  Death 
to  steal  in  unawares  and  stop  the  machinery,  put  to 
rout  the  ever  watchful  servants,  the  brain,  the  heart, 
the  lungs,  so  that  when  the  Personality  would  again 
return  from  its  wanderings  in  the  Elysian  Fields  of 
Dreams  it  finds  barred  the  gates,  and  Death  standing 
guard  without. 

As  we  enter  the  bed-ohamber  of  Tintagilcs,  we 
overhear  Ygraine  saying  that  she  has  examined  the 
doors — the  three  doors,  the  eyes,  the  ears,  the  mouth, 
as  I  interpret  her  saying,— and  here  again  we  catch 


The  Death  of   Tinlagiles 


135 


sight  of  Pagan  Philosophy,  especially  as  she  urges 
them  to  help  her  close  the  heaviest,  which  is  strong- 
est. Then  Aglovale  sits  at  the  threshold,  on  the  very 
steps.  One  reads  here  the  symbolism  of  the  mouth, 
with  its  teeth  the  marble  steps.  The  child  is  sleeping 
with  open  mouth,  and  the  uld  man  recognizes  the  fact 
that  it  must  be  closed,  for  through  it  might  enter  the 
germ  of  death,  stealing  in  unawares  upon  the  uncon- 
scious sleeper.  As  Aglovale  sits  and  watches,  the 
association  of  ideas  brings  up  a  misty  past,  and  it 
seems  as  if  he  had  done  the  same  thing  before,  and  of 
course  he  had,  when  he  sat  beside  the  little  brothers 
and  the  old  King,  all  of  whom  had  surrendered  to 
the  Queen  of  the  Darkness.  The  sisters  stand  look- 
ing at  the  child,  and  are  filled  with  uneasiness,  for 
there  are  signs  of  tears  on  his  cheeks,  his  brow  is 
pale, — it  is  a  restless,  troubled  sleep.  When  they 
awaken  him  from  his  drowsy  state,  he  is  too  ill  to 
care  to  play,  and  the  signs  of  his  departure  arc  at 
hand,  for  he  has  ceased  to  be  able  to  walk. 

One  might  almost  suppose  that  Maeterlinck  had  in 
mind  infantile  paralysis  when  writing  this  symbolical 
story  of  little  Tintagiles.  When  they  inquire  where 
is  the  pain,  we  catch  another  wonderful  glimpse  of 
Maeterlinck,  the  psychologist,  for  the  child  is  unable 
to  locate  it;  he  feels  pain  as  bare  pain  which  is  sweep- 
ing over  his  consciousness  with  a  remarkable  inten- 
sity, so  that  he  declares,  "It  is  everywhere."  As 
Ygraine  takes  him  in  her  arms,  he  localizes  a  particu- 
lar spot,  and  then  shows  the  characteristic  emotion  of 
childhood,  the  love  of  light,  and  complains  that  the 
one  light  is  not  sufficient.  Ygraine  is  lead  to  com- 
ment like  a  sage,  "One  never  knows  just  what  the 


fl 


11; 


I, 

•  *  L 

I 
ill 


II 


136 


The  Psychology  of  Maeterlinck 


soul  believes  it  sees."  The  remark  seems  placed  in  the 
wrong  mouth,  and  one  feels  that  it  should  have  is- 
sued from  the  old  man  seated  at  the  threshold.  What 
a  sermon  one  could  extract  from  that  single  thought ! 
And  how  childish  is  the  answer,  "I  have  not  seen  the 
soull"  It  is  like  a  child  in  the  Sunday  school  who  is 
always  asking  if  one  can  see  God?  and  who  cannot 
understand  our  philosophical  answerings  that  we  see 
Him  in  Faith  and  Truth. 

Now  their  attention  turns  to  the  sword  which  Ag- 
lovale  is  holding  across  his  knees.  The  sword  which 
had  been  strong  in  the  days  of  his  youth,  but  which 
had  grown  rusty  from  long  disuse,  and  which  he  now 
suspects.  Isn't  it  typical  of  the  Golden  Rule  of  a 
thousand  good  resolutions  made  in  youth,  and  which 
he  had  tried  to  live  by,  and  then,  carried  away  with 
the  winds  of  doctrine,  has  laid  aside  and  forgotten, 
and  then  in  the  hour  of  extremity  resurrected  from 
the  storehouse  of  memory  to  serve  a  final  good  turn, 
but  of  whose  value  he  now  rightly  feels  lack  of  confi- 
dence. He,  too,  gives  utterance  to  an  epitomized 
sermon  when  he  says,  "We  have  to  live  in  expectation 
of  the  unexpected.  And  then  we  have  to  act  as  if  we 
hoped."  This  is  the  cry  of  a  dying  man  who,  like 
Cardinal  Wolsey,  exclaims,  "Had  I  but  served  God 
as  diligently  as  I  have  served  the  king,  He  would 
not  have  given  me  over  in  my  gray  hairs." 

Then  Tintagiles,  with  the  wisdom  of  the  child  who 
reflects  aH  the  wisdom  of  the  ages,  points  to  the 
wounds  on  the  old  man's  brow,  and  feels  a  childish 
sentiment  of  pity,  and  alarm.  But  Aglovale  shakes 
his  head  sadly,  reflectively,  and  answers,  "Those  are 
very  old  wounds  that  do  not  hurt  me  any  more,  my 


The  Death  of  Tintagiles 


137 


child."  They  are  the  insults,  the  injuries,  the  fail- 
ures in  life,  wounded  pride,  vanity,  what  you  will, 
scars  in  the  heart,  scars  engraven  on  the  mind,  but 
they,  too,  make  no  impression  of  feeling  now,  the 
mi  d  is  too  seared,  and  the  dust  of  the  years  has 
filled  them  over  so  that  they  are  almost  concealed, 
except  to  very  young,  penetrating  eyes,  and  they  can 
see  them  only  when  some  very  similar  sorrow,  the 
sense  of  some  acute  loss,  has  entered  into  the  life, 
and  a  sympathetic  kinship  has  been  established  be- 
tween the  twain,  and  youth  has  bridged  the  chasm  be- 
tween himself  and  old  age. 

Then  Tintagiles  notices  the  assumed  emotion  of 
his  sisters,  who  are  striving  to  smile,  but  whose  smile 
is  not  genuine.  Maeterlinck  evidently  agrees  with 
Stanley  who  contends  that  emotions  come  from  the 
mind  and  are  reflected  upon  the  body,  and  not  that 
the  body  is  the  reason  for  the  emotion,  as  is  claimed 
by  James  and  Ribot.  The  mind  was  not  happy,  the 
smile  was  forced,  and  lacked  reality.  Children  are 
very  quick  to  observe  whether  an  emotion  be  real  or 
only  simulated.  Even  a  baby  soon  learns  to  know 
real  tears  from  the  pretended  weeping  of  Mother  or 
Nurse.  Even  Ygraine's  kiss  is  hurtful,  for  the  little 
fellow  discovers  that  even  his  is  tinged  with  the 
grief  in  the  sister's  heart.  The  emotion  of  anxiety 
is  causing  her  heart  to  beat  violently.  It  is  the  old 
influence  of  fear  which  forces  the  rhythms,  even 
against  her  will.  Then  occurs  an  example  of  the  emo- 
tion of  contagious  fear,  and  the  symptoms  evident  in 
Ygraine's  heart  are  reflected  in  Tintagiles's  and  she 
exclaims,  "Tt  is  bursting!"  Probably  no  emotion,  un- 
less it  be  the  reflex  one  of  laughter,  is  more  contag- 


/( 


i3« 


The  Psychology  of  Maeterlinck 


ious  tlian  that  of  fear.  It  is  one  of  the  earliest  of 
our  emotions,  and  connected  directly  with  pain,  and 
was  intended  as  a  monitor  for  self-preservation,  al- 
tho  in  some  instances  it  defeats  its  own  ends  by  para- 
lyzing the  subject  so  that  he  perishes,  but  this  is  a 
later  development  which  need  not  trouble  us  here. 
However,  the  emotion  becomes  so  intense  with  Tin- 
tagiles,  that  in  a  moment  his  heart  has  gor  .•  wildly 
careering,  and  he  has  suftered  coma,  fainted.  Per- 
haps, after  all,  the  paleness  of  brow,  the  peculiar 
pink,  of  the  child's  cheek,  the  sleeping  with  mouth 
open,  crying  in  sleep,  the  fainting,  are  pathological 
symptoms  of  a  heart-malady,  for  Maeterlinck  has 
not  at  any  time  called  the  disease  by  a  specific  name, 
and  we  can  only  conjecture  from  the  symptoms  which 
he  parades  before  us  from  time  to  time  as  the  plot 
progresses. 

Suddenly  the  watchers  hear  the  approaching  feet, 
—they  stop  at  the  door.  The  Physician,  Aglovale, 
arises  calmly  and  strives  with  his  scalpel,  the  rusty 
sword,  to  prevent  the  entrance  of  the  unwelcome  in- 
truder who  is  anxious  to  carry  away  the  darling,  fair- 
haired  child.  But,  as  he  thrusts  the  sword  into  the 
opening  doorway,  it  is  broken  as  the  door  invisibly 
closes,  and  the  foot-steps  are  heard  running  down 
the  hall.  There  is  a  moment  of  pause  whilst  the 
watchers  bend  anxiously  over  the  child,  and,  still  de- 
tecting his  heart-beats  exclaim,  "He  is  saved!"  For 
a  time,  at  all  events,  he  is  left  to  them.  But,  wearied 
with  their  vigil,  they  all  fall  asleep,  and  in  that  silent 
time,  come  the  handmaidens  of  the  Queen,  and  they 
steal  into  the  chamber,  and  carry  away  the  poor 
Tintagiles,  who  clutches  in  his  tiny  hands  portions  of 


The  Death  of  TintaglUs 


139 


his  sister's  locks,  symbolical  of  their  souls,  for  each 
loved  one  who  passes  into  the  Beyond  carries  with 
him  a  part  of  ourselves,  and  each  of  us  is  just  that 
much  poorer,  our  heart  just  that  much  more  empty 
of  love,  because  a  part  of  our  love  has  been  carried 
into  the  grave.  As  one  of  our  American  Poets  has 
said,  in  speaking  of  his  dead  sweetheart,  and  his  own 
loneliness,  "Does  half  my  heart  lie  buried  there?" 

As  Tintagiles  raises  his  cry  in  the  agony  of  death, 
the  watchers  arouse  themselves  from  their  stupor, 
and  strive  to  rescue  him,  starting  in  vain  pursuit  down 
the  vista  of  the  hall  with  the  dimly  burning  lights. 
One  of  the  sisters  is  so  overcome  with  horror  that 
the  emotion  sweeps  away  her  sensibility,  and  she  falls 
at  the  threshold,  but  faithful  Ygraine  rushes  on, 
striving  to  catch  the  passing  soul,  and  pursues  up 
the  many  stairs  until  a  door  slams  in  her  face,  and 
she  realizes  that  this  is  the  end. 

But  there  is  a  little  crack,  and  Tintagiles,  whose 
hair  has  caught  in  the  closing  door,  still  sees  his 
sisf^r  dimly,  by  the  light  of  her  earthly  lantern,  and 
implores  her  to  rescue  him,  as  still  there  is  time.  But 
she  is  ignorant  of  the  laws  which  unlock  that  great 
door,  and  tears  her  nails  and  her  flesh  with  weak 
batterings  upon  it,  and  then,  in  a  last  vain  effort,  as 
Tintagiles  is  struggling  in  his  agony,  with  a  realiza- 
tion of  the  approaching  of  Death  herself,  altho  he 
cannot  see  Death  by  reason  of  his  position  against 
the  door,  Ygraine  slams  her  lamp  of  clay,  the  one  bit 
of  truth  which  she  possessed,  and  which  has  buoyed 
her  courage,  against  the  door,  and,  as  it  shatters,  she 
hears  poor  Tintagiles  moan  and  choke,  as  the  old 
Lady  Death  relentlessly  presses  her  thumb  upon  his 


u- 


'?  i>ti 


M- 


l:' 


140  The  Psychology  of  Maeterlinck 


tiny  windpipe !  Then,  in  the  last  moment  of  horror, 
Y'graine  pounds  and  screams  at  the  door; — she  prays, 
she  curses,  she  recalls  the  memories  of  Tintagiles's 
beauties,  of  his  fascination,  his  lovely  ways,  and  begs 
for  him  back  again,  — "Just  for  a  moment,  one  little 
moment !"  But  in  vain,  for  the  door  is  forever  closed 
against  his  return,  and  she  is  alone  with  her  anguish 
and  her  grief. 

In  the  death  of  the  Priest  in  The  Blind,  we  had  an 
example  of  normal  death,  free  from  pain,  a  gentle, 
quiet  sinking  into  sleep,  its  twin  brother.  In  the 
painful  end  of  little  Tintagiles,  we  have  the  rarer 
type  of  death,  a  type  which  Prof.  Osier  in  his  Inger- 
soll  Lecture  on  Immortality  mentions  observing  in 
90  cases  out  of  500,  and  remarks  that  the  pain 
in  these  cases  was  due  not  to  death  itself,  but  to  the 
nature  of  the  disease  from  which  the  patient  was 
suffering.  The  final  agonies  of  the  child  were  very 
probably  due  to  the  rare  type  of  heart-disease  with 
its  painful  strangling  spasms,  known  among  medical 
practitioners  as  Cheyne-Stokes  Breathing. 

The  Death  of  Tintagiles  is  a  wonderful  patholog- 
ical study  of  the  progressive  stages  of  heart-disease 
as  exemplified  in  the  Child,  and  of  the  uselessness 
of  all  our  efforts.  Use  all  the  means  at  our  hands, 
bring  all  scientific  knowledge  to  the  study  of  the 
subject,  our  means  may  prolong,  may  ease  the  pain, 
yet  Death  is  there.  The  inevitable  monster  is  al- 
ways at  our  side  waiting,  waiting  a  moment  when 
we  are  feelinp-  happy,  comfortable,  and  indulging 
in  a  moment  of  rest,  to  step  in  and  snatch  away  our 
darling.  All  that  we  have  is  prayer,  and  a  few  dim 
lights  to  guide  us  on  our  way.    Yet  the  irony  is  that 


The  Death  of  Tintagiles 


141 


in  spite  of  our  prayers,  in  spite  of  our  pursuit  to  the 
very  threshold  of  the  tomb,  the  door  of  the  tomj 
will  close  upon  our  beloved,  and  leave  us  weeping  and 
praying  on  the  hitherside  of  the  portal. 

The  play  is  anti-Christian  in  its  doctrine,  the  story 
conceived  by  an  Agnostic,  and  offers  no  comfort,  no 
happiness.  It  is  the  dark  negation  of  religious  con- 
solation. It  indicates  that  up  to  the  time  of  its  writ- 
ing, in  spite  of  his  pious  training  by  the  Monks,  Maet- 
erlinck was  unimpressed  by  Church  teachings,  and 
saw  in  Death  nothing  but  a  gloomy  monster  who 
controls  humanity  and  makes  us  do  his  bidding,  and 
that  in  his  palace  there  is  no  life,  no  light,  nothing 
but  darkness.  Over  his  portal  are  engraven  the  im- 
mortal lines  of  melancholy  Dante,  "Abandon  Hope, 
All  Ye  Who  Enter  Here."  I  admire  the  symbolism, 
the  mastery  of  psychology  which  the  play  stands  for, 
but  with  its  doctrines  I  have  no  sympathy.  It  stands 
in  terrible  contrast  at  the  side  of  his  later  plays, 
which  we  have  discussed.  But  the  plot  is  haunting 
and  will  remain  in  one's  memory,  like  an  awful  night- 
mare, forever! 

"Then  of  the  Thee  in  Me  who  works  behind 
The  Veil,  I  lifted  up  my  hands  to  find 
A  Lamp  amid  the  darkness;  and  I  heard, 
As  from  Without— 'The  Me  within  Thee  blind.'  " 

Omar  Khayyam. 

Dismissing  the  morbid  nature  of  these  plays,  and 
considering  only  their  plots,  one  comes  away  dissat- 
isfied. There  is  a  subconscious  feeling  of  lack  of 
balance,  of  lack  of  natural  sequence  and  content  of 
plot  which  annoys  and  irritates  the  reader.    This  is 


•i 


I' 


n 


142  The  Psychology  of  Maeterlinck 


true  of  almost  all  of  Maeterlinck's  plays.  In  Maet- 
erlinck's writings  it  is  the  aesthetic  beauty  of  scene, 
settings,  and  lines,  the  wisdom  and  the  psychology 
which  interest  and  hold  spell-bound.  But  we  feel  a 
want,  as  one  who  has  eaten  a  hearty  meal  and  yet 
confesses  to  a  feeling  of  hunger,  a  pure  pain  emotion. 
We  are  annoyed  by  the  lack  of  balanced  harmony, 
the  too  frequent  changing  of  scene,  and  the  repeated 
introduction  of  what  is  entirely  irrelevant  to  the  pro- 
gress of  the  plot,  altho  such  lines  may  be  useful  as 
sign-posts  indicating  the  peculiar  psychology  of  the 
persons  involved.  Frequently  these  lines  also  serve 
m  lieu  of  scenery  by  descriptions  of  wonderful  beau- 
ty of  the  natural  surroundings  of  the  characters. 

Maeterlinck  has  oft  contended  that  his  plays  were 
not  written  to  be  acted,  and  in  an  introduction  to  his 
Plays  for  Marionettes,  answers  the  question  of  wheth- 
er he  really  wrote  these  plays  for  puppets,  by  sayings, 
that  that  name  was  used  for  want  of  a  better,  because 
such  plays  lost  in  beauty  when  attempt  was  made  to 
enact  them;  and  he  continues  to  emphasize  his  re- 
marks by  the  statement  that  even  Shakespeare  is 
more  appreciated  when  enjoyed  in  the  study  than 
when  seen  on  the  boards  of  the  theatre,  and  advances 
the  opinion  that  the  great  Bard  of  Avon  did  not 
care  to  have  his  plays  acted! 

But  Maeterlinck  loses  sight  of  one  very  vital  dif- 
ference, the  years  which  separate  himself  from  the 
era  of  Shakespeare,  and  that  now  in  the  theatre  scen- 
ery takes  the  place  of  descriptive  passages  of  the 
landscape,  and  that  what  was  proper  on  the  stage  of 
that  day  is  not  in  strict  accord  with  the  stage  of  to- 
day.    If  Maeterlinck  desires  to  have  his  plays  en- 


The  Death  of  Tintagiles 


143 


joyed  in  the  library  solely,  that  is  his  privilege,  so 
we  need  not  prolong  the  argument  with  further  dis- 
cussion. 


4\ 


I       I 


11'      1 


RESUME  OF  THE  EMOTIONS 

'Sed  res  docu'tt  id  verrum  esse  quod  in  carminihus 

Appius  ait, 
"Fabrum  esse  suae  quemque  fortunae." 

Pseudo-Sallust. 


\\  > 


RESUME 

IN   conclusion,  let  us  catch  up  the  controlling 
emotion  which  we  find  depicted  in  each  of  the 
Plays,  and  for  which  we  may  safely  say  that 
each  Play  stands. 
Maeterlinck   has   extensively  treated   of  the   sex 
life.     He  begins  with  the  sexual  emotion  in  all  its 
manifestations  from  the  simple  sentiments  of  ado- 
lescence in  absolute  purity  and  absence  of  gross  man- 
ifestations, proceeds  through  the  various  phases  of 
parental  and  filial  love,  devotion  to  home  and  fam- 
ily, upward  through  the  birth  of  aesthetic  love  of  the 
beautiful,  U-  the  very  highest  manifestations  which 
embrace  the  sexual  in  its  purest  form  and  the  aes- 
thetic, and  then  into  the  lofty  realms  of  the  religious 
emotion,  and  then  carries  the  development  further  to 
the  point  where  the  emotion  has  converted  itself  into 
the  gross-semblance  which  is  termed  "sexual  pas- 
sion."    Passion  is  a  permanent  emotion,  a  controll- 
ing state,  which  has  gone  beyond  the  bounds  of  or- 
dinary emotion  and  which  has  not  quite  reached  the 
stage  where  it  can  be  termed  insanity.     It  is  likely 
to  terminate  in  the  latter  unless  some  distraction  can 
be  introduced  which  will  divert  the  mind,  and  re-es- 
tablish  normal    functioning  of   the   emotional   life. 
Unity  and  stability  are  essential  to  Normal  Char- 
acter;   when  true  character  is  once  established,  It 

never  changes. 

Whether  Maeterlinck  set  out  with  a  definite  plan 
of  construction  and  intentionally  determined  to  dc 

147 


148  The  Psychology  of  Maeterlinck 


h   < 


velop  his  writing  through  all  the  stages  of  love  from 
lowest  to  highest,   is   not  certain.     But,   strangely 
enough,  his  first  play.  Princess  Maleine,  would  lead 
us  to  think  such  a  theory  probable.     Princess  Ma- 
leine is  a  sharp  contrasting  of  adolescent  love  with  its 
cravings  and  yearnings  not  translated  into  terms  of 
the  physical.     There  is  an  uneasiness,  a  desire  for 
companionship,  for  love,  as  represented  in  Maleine 
ana   Prince  Hjalmar.     It  is  pure,  uncontaminated. 
This  fact  is  emphasized  by  the  rare  touch  of  having 
the  Prince  shrink  from  contact  with  Queen  Anne, 
even  from  the  defilement  of  her  glance.  At  the  op- 
posite extreme  we  find  King  Marcellus  and  Queen 
Anne  with  their  sexual  emotion  developed,  at  least  on 
the  part  of  King  Marcellus,  into  a  passion,  and  which 
is  carried  to  the  logical  conclusion,  insanity.    On  the 
one  hand  we  have  the  exhaltation  of  the  tender  senti- 
ment, and  on  the  other  its  prostitution.     The  King 
stands  for  passion,  and  the  Queen  is  really  the  pros- 
titute of  the  streets,  sacrificing  her  bodily  self  for 
gain,  and  willing  to  sacrifice  likewise  her  daughter, 
l^glyane.     The  play  may  also  be  taken  as  a  com- 
mentary upon  certain  modern  conditions  in  the  social 
world,  the  sacrificing  of  sentiment  and  moral  sense 
to  the  desire  for  social  prestige  and  financial  power. 
Against  this  play  stands  Alladitie  and  Palomides. 
Here  we  find  the  very  highest  development  of  the 
sexual  emotion,  two  souls  mutually  attracted.     Palo- 
mides broke  his  engagement  with  Astolaine  simply 
because  he  felt  that  there  was  not  the  subconscious 
attraction,  and  that  without  this  there  could  never 
be  the  true  union  of  hearts  which  makes  for  the  suc- 
cessful marriage  venture.    It  is  the  doctrine  of  Schop- 


Resume 


149 


enhauer.  The  sisters  were  women  of  rare  sense,  and 
did  not  spoil  the  lives  of  the  three  persons  in  the 
play  by  insisting  upon  a  union  which  would  never 
have  gone  beyond  that  of  a  friendship,  and  whose 
basis  was  so  slight  that  it  might  not  have  been  able 
to  even  remain  a  friendship,  but  might  have  ceased 
to  exist.  It  would  have  had  much  the  outcome  of 
Hauptmann's  Ehisame  Mcnschen,—\ont\y  lives  in- 
deed are  those  who  have  entered  such  a  marriage 
bond.  The  King  is  simply  a  sidelight,  a  study  in 
insanity  arising  from  a  very  different  cause  than  that 
from  which  King  Marcellus  in  Princess  Maleine  suf- 
fered. 

In  Pelleas  and  Melisande  we  have  the  same  three 
types,  and  each  with  a  varied  form  of  sexual  emo- 
tion. Pelleas  has  true  sexual  emotion,  sensible,  sane, 
but  evidently  with  intense  craving  for  satisfaction 
and  discharge.  Whether  his  emotion  had  an  outlet, 
it  is  difficult  to  conjecture,  as  we  have  previously  dis- 
cussed. Golaud  is  afflicted  with  sexual  passion  which 
drives  him  to  despair,  and  later  to  murder,  and  pos- 
sibly to  suicide.  Jealousy  is  at  the  basis,  as  it  is  al- 
most always  with  intense  sexual  emotion.  Midway 
between  the  two  stands  Melisande,  with  her  touch- 
ing manifestation  of  mother-love  in  the  last  act. 

Ardianc  and  Barhe  Bleue  presents  a  study  of  mar- 
riage without  any  rational  foundation  of  love.  The 
group  of  wives  are  typically  women  of  past  Ages 
who  married  because  their  parents  had  arranged  a 
desirable  match,  and  who  were  so  controlled  by  cus- 
tom and  habit  that  they  dare  not  break  the  conven- 
tionalities. Ardiane  was  the  different  sort  of  woman. 
She  had  no  feeling  of  sexual  emotion  whatever,  neith- 


w 


::!i 


'/ 


150  The  Psychology  of  Maeterlinck 

er  was  she  in  any-wise  controlled  by  convention.  She 
had  a  duty  to  perform,  and  she  performed  it.  She 
lived  up  to  the  demands  of  her  conscience.  She  had 
a  sentiment  of  pity,  and  was  controlled  thereby,  that 
was  all.  The  environment  is  splendidly  chosen  for 
such  a  play,  with  its  stress  of  emotion  surging  about, 
for,  says  Ribot,  "All  periods  of  Revolution  are  best 
for  the  development  of  character." 

Joyzelle  is  still  a  different  study  of  sexual  emotion. 
Here  we  have  father-love,  the  love  of  family,  de- 
picted in  Merlin  who  has  at  heart  the  keenest  desire 
for  the  happiness  of  his  son.    Perhaps  his  own  mar- 
ried life  had  been  a  mistake,  and  he  is  filled  with 
parental  solicitude  to  save  his  son  from  such  a  Fate. 
Lanceor  is  reflective  of  youthful  Independence  and 
desire  for  freedom  of  volition,  but  at  the  end  he 
shows  us  an  example  of  filial  devotion.    Joyzelle  is 
typical  of  the  highest  and  best  in  womanhood,  and  re- 
flects at  the  end  filial  devotion.   The  emotion  of  love 
here  shown  is  charming.  The  incident  of  the  tempta- 
tion scene  is  introduced  to  show  that  there  v.'as  ab- 
sence of  any  form  of  lust  or  grossness.  and  that  it  was 
a  high,  pure  love  which  the  characters  held  for  each 

other. 

The  Seven  Princesses  is  a  simple  little  study  of 
adolescent  love.  Love  is  here  a  sentiment,  an  organ- 
ized instinct,  but  has  not  developed  into  an  emotion. 
Ursula  dies  of  a  broken  heart  because  of  the  delay 
of  her  Prince  in  coming.  But  that  does  not  indicate 
anything  more  than  a  youthful  longing  for  the  ob- 
ject of  its  sentiment.  The  King  and  Queen  show  us 
coniugal  felicity  at  its  best,  sincere  sexual  emotion 
which  has  never  ceased  to  be  admiration  and  affec- 


Resume 


151 


tion,  and  loyalty  to  home  and  family. 

Aglava'tne  and  Selysette  is  a  study  in  the  jealousy 
which  underlies  all  true  sexual  emotion.  Unless  there 
be  a  righteous  jealousness  there  is  not  perfect  love. 
It  is  a  discussion  of  the  two  theories  of  the  well- 
spring  of  the  emotions,  the  mental  or  the  physical. 
Aglavaine  stands  for  the  mental  state,  Selysette  for 
the  physical.  The  hero  seems  to  be  a  neuter  so  far  as 
he  is  developed  in  the  play. 

Monna  Vanna  shows  us  the  ethical  side  of  mar- 
riage and  its  sentiment.    We  have  no  reason  to  be- 
lieve that  Monna  Vanna  had  not  the  highest  senti- 
ment of  affection  and  of  sexual  emotion  for  her  hus- 
band, nor  are  we  at  all  persuaded  that  she  felt  real 
sexual  attraction  for  Prinzivalle.     She  was  moved 
by  an  ideal,  and  acted  accordingly.     Guido  had  a 
sexual  emotion  for  his  wife,  but  seemed  to  have  no 
respect  for  her,  so  the  marriage  bond  was  not  con- 
genial, no  matter  how  smooth  it  seemed  on  the  sur- 
face.    Prinzivalle  undoubtedly  had  the  purest  of 
sexual  sentiment.     If  it  came  perilously  near  pas- 
sion at  the  moment  that  he  made  the  demand  for 
Monna  Vanna  to  sacrifice  her  purity  as  a  condition 
of  the  surrender  of  the  City,  it  escaped  that  when 
Monna  Vanna  entered  his  tent  with  her  womanly 
purity  of  soul.     It  may  be  that  Maeterlinck  wished 
to  demonstrate  the  theory  that  a  good  woman  modi- 
fies and  alters  the  baser  tendencies  of  man. 

Mary  Magdalene  stands  for  the  aesthetic,  and 
shows  us  how  that  emotion  can  elevate  the  grossness 
of  pure  sexual  desire,  and  place  the  object  of  its 
affections  upon  a  high  plane,  when  the  sentiment  of 
love  transforms  itself  into  religion.  We  have  three 


m 


152  The  Psychology  of  Maeterlinck 

types  of  emotion  contrasted,— Verus  with  his  animal 
passion  which  was  unable  to  become  puriHed  and  re- 
fined; Mary  showing  similar  emotion  in  her  early 
development,  but  withal  having  a  sentiment  for  the 
aesthetic,  and  which  made  her  soul  good  ground  for 
tillage,  and  which  bore  its  fruits  as  we  see  later 
when  her  emotion  blossomed  into  pure  religious 
idealism. 

Sister  Beatrice  contrasts  the  religious  sentiment 
developed  through  emotion  into  passion,  as  exhibit- 
ed in  the  Nuns,  with  the  sexual  emotion,  degenerate, 
in  this  case,  from  the  religi  us,  as  exhibited  in  Sister 
Beatrice.  From  pure  sexual  emotion  Sister  Bea- 
trice passes  through  all  the  various  phases  and  vari- 
ations, such  as  the  sentiment  of  mother-love  which 
forces  her  to  the  very  depths  of  prostituting  her  de- 
sires, and  eventually  causes  her  emotion  to  become 
a  sensual  passion  which  exhausts  itself.  Through 
repentance  the  same  emotion  again  elevates  her  to 
her  better-self,  and  brings  to  the  fore  once  more  the 
religious  emotion. 

The  Death  of  Tintagiles  stands  for  Fear.  There 
is  a  beautiful  picture  of  love-in-the-family,  of  natural 
instinct,  but  Fear  is  what  impresses  one  most,  and  is 
the  ruling  emotion  of  the  drama. 

Home  also  shows  the  family  and  its  emotions  of 
love.  The  one  great  emotion  which  we  see  contrast- 
ed is  Curiosity.  Curiosity  is  contagious,  and  Mae- 
terlinck brings  this  out  as  the  episodes  progress,  and 
each  character  succunbs  at  length  to  that  instinct. 
Curiosity  is  fundamental  in  our  composition,  and  is 
the  foundation  of  the  intellectual  sentiment,  the  thirst 
for  knowledge. 


Resume 


153 


The  Intruder  is  another  one  of  the  plays  develop- 
ing the  family  life,  and  its  emotions.  Mysticism  pre- 
dominates, and  the  play  is  a  treatment  of  mental 
phenomena  of  telepathy  and  viridical  apparition. 
There  seems  to  be  an  absence  of  love  in  the  play. 
The  callousness  of  the  group  is  remarkable.  The 
peculiar  temperaments  manifested  are  due  to  bodily 
conditions  of  the  characters.  As  we  have  seen,  it  is 
the  advanced  age  of  the  Grandfather  which  makes 
him  so  much  more  sensitive  to  what  is  occurring  than 
are  the  others  in  the  room.  The  tendency  toward  Su- 
perstition is  what  the  play  stands  for. 

The  Blind  is  a  study  in  the  sentiments  of  faith  and 
doubt.     The   Young  Blind  Girl  stands  for  Faith, 
"The  substance  of  things  hoped  for  the  evidence  of 
things  not  seen;"   the  others  for  Doubt.    Of  these 
latter  there  are  two  classes  represented,  the  agnostics, 
who  still  go  on  mumbling  their  vain  prayers,  and  the 
atheists  who  remain  silent,  refusing  to  pray.     The 
Faith  of  the  young  maiden  is  supported  by  Bergson 
who  has  said,  "There  is  no  time,  space,  dimension 
except  relatively.     There   is  no  perfect  and  com- 
pleted science,  for  what  is  true  today  may  not  be 
true  tomorrow.    Science  progresses  through  faith  in 
the  undemonstrable,  and  so  belief  in  eternal  life  is 

justifiable." 

The  Blue  Bird  stands  for  Happiness,  as  is  gen- 
erally agreed.  It  is  the  only  play  of  Maeterlinck's 
which  can  be  so  proclaimed,  and  it  is  about  the  only 
play  that  has  a  laugh  in  the  voices  of  the  characters. 
Joy  is  the  most  difficult  of  all  emotions  to  depict,  and 
Maeterlinck  has  studiously  avoided  this  phase  of  our 
existence.  In  writing  The  Blue  Bird  he  has  not  left 


it 


154  The  Psychology  of  Maeterlinck 


h     * 
III     ' 


the  joy  unmixed,  for  when  he  makes  Light  personify 
Knowledge,  he  contrasts  Night,  which  stands  for  Ig- 
norance, and  makes  the  Blue  Birds  seem  to  belong 
to  her  realm,  altho  he  strips  away  the  husk  from  the 
lie  and  shows  that  her  pleasures  are  those  of  the  way 
of  Death,  that  there  is  in  them  no  life,  for  her  Blue 
Birds  cannot  survive  the  light  of  Intelligence.  In- 
cidental to  this  doctrine  we  see  lovely  pictures  of 
love, — Mother-love,  Father-love,  Filial-love  and 
obedience. 

The  minor  emotions  which  affect  the  characters  in 
the  plays  have  already  been  analyzed  to  considerable 
length,  so  I  refrain  from  agnin  alluding  to  them.  In 
this  chapter  I  have  simply  tried  to  point  the  controll- 
ing emotions  of  each  play.  There  is  a  rational  de- 
terminism at  the  basis  of  each  play,  and  Maeterlinck 
has  rigorously  adhered  to  it,  no  matter  how  unpleas- 
ant the  story  may  be  in  consequence.  His  physiolog- 
ical and  psychological  studies  of  the  body  and  its 
manifestations  are  most  accurate.  He  gives  very  lit- 
tle freedom  to  the  Human  Will,  for  he  is  a  prcdes- 
tinationist,  and  in  this  he  falls  in  line  with  the  best 
authorities.  It  seems  a  dreadful  thought,  yet  each 
cause  must  have  its  effect,  and  once  that  the  plan  is 
mapped  out,  it  is  impossible  to  change  the  scheme. 
When  we  act  with  the  greatest  Freedom  of  the  Will, 
taen  we  are  acting  under  the  influence  of  what  was 
determined  Ages  before  we  were  bom.  Man  is  as 
fixed  in  his  course  as  are  the  Stars  in  their  Orbits. 


MAETERLINCK  AS  A  DRAMATIST 

"He  gave  man  speech  and  speech  created  thought, 
Which  IS  the  measure  of  the  Universe." 


111      • 


MAETERLINCK  AS  A  DRAMATIST 

AS  I  have  already  set  forth  at  considerable 
length  in  my  preceding  book,  The  Influ- 
ence of  the  Drama,  1  contend  that  the 
word   Dramatist,   or   Drama,   should  be 
confined   strictly   to   the   production  of   an   actable 
dramatic  work,  and  that  the  test  of  whether  a  certain 
piece  of  literature  is  Drama  or  not,  is  the  test  of  the 
Theatre.    If  it  will  not  stand  such  a  test,  then  it  be- 
longs to  the  realm  of  the  library,  and  should  be  de- 
scribed by  the  term  Drama-Novel.     The  dramatic 
form  is  really  a  stenographic  method  of  setting  down 
the  characteristics  of  certain  personalities  in  a  story, 
and  as  such  may  be  resorted  to,  as  it  often  is,  by  the 
poet  or  the  prose-writer.     But  if  the  story  is  not 
capable  of  being  ph-    cally  presented,  then  its  au- 
thor should  be  judged  from  the  standpoint  of  the 
Novelist,  and  his  work  should  stand  or  fall  by  that 

criterion. 

Undoubtedly  any  work  cast  in  the  form  of  dia- 
logue could  be  recited,  but  mere  recitation  is  not  dra- 
matic presentation.  The  very  word  dramatic  sug- 
gests something  of  intense,  vital  interest.  A  great 
deal  may  be  vitally  interesting  to  a  reader  in  his 
study-chair,  which  would  bore  the  same  person  in  the 
upholstered,  but  somewhat  cramped  chair  of  the 
theatre.  Therefore,  to  stand  the  dramatic  test,  such 
a  work  must  move  swiftly  and  logically  to  its  conclu- 
sion, and  all  matter  which  has  no  direct  bearing  upon 
the  plot,  or  which  may  not  be  permissible  because  of 

157 


158  The  Psychology  of  Maeterlinck 


I! 


its  psychological  revelation  of  some  important  char- 
acter, must  be  eradicated. 

The  Chinese  Drama  does  not  live  up  to  this  rule, 
but  the  Oriental  mind  is  of  different  complexus  than 
ours.  So,  too,  was  the  mind  of  the  Elizabethan,  who 
had  but  little  literary  food,  and  might  be  too  ill- 
educated  to  assimilate  such  food  had  it  been  offered, 
and  who,  therefore,  depended  to  a  greater  extent, 
than  we  of  this  bustling  twentieth  century,  upon  the 
Church  and  the  Theatre  for  the  expounding  of  na- 
ture and  philosophy.  So  today  we  can  enjoy  Shakes- 
peare in  entirety  in  our  study,  but  are  bored  when 
we  see  him  so  presented  by  our  players.  I  admit, 
there  are  other  reasons  why  we  may  be  wearied  by  a 
lengthy  performance  of  Shakespeare,  other  than  the 
length  of  the  uncut  text;  some  of  these  reasons  are, 
length  of  waits  between  scenic  changes,  unintelligent 
readings  by  the  players,  mutilations  of  the  scenes. 

Maurice  Maeterlinck  is  placed  among  our  great 
realists,  and  is  said  to  be  a  master  of  stage-technique 
to  so  great  an  extent  that  he  can  afford  to  discard  it 
for  the  sake  of  securing  more  startling  theatrical  ef- 
fects. But  there  are  spots  in  his  realism  which  are 
not  dissimilar  to  the  garrulous  memory  of  old  age, 
which  cannot  repeat  a  particular  incident  of  actual 
interest  to  the  auditor,  without  embellishing  the  scene 
with  no  end  of  extraneous  matter  and  incident  of  no 
interest  to  other  than  the  reconteur.  This  is  really 
the  case  with  Maeterlinck  in  very  many  of  his  plays. 
As  has  been  previously  stated,  he  reflects  his  heredity 
and  environment,  for  the  people  of  Bruges  and 
Ghent  reiterate  and  reiterate  in  their  conversation 
to  a  wearisome  degree,  and  while  he  has  very  cleverly 


Maeterlinck  as  a  Dramatist 


159 


avoided  the  point  of  nausea  from  such  intense  real- 
ism, yet  he  sails  between  Scylla  and  Charybdis,  so 
perilously  near  to  the  one,  that,  whilst  avoiding  the 
rocks  on  one  hand,  he  has  gone  aground  on  the  rocks 
of  the  other  Island!     He  has  been  so  simple  in  his 
vocabulary  that  if  one  did  not  know  him  as  a  brilliant 
essayist  with  a  remarkably  extensive  and  beautiful 
vocabulary,  he  would  classify  him  in  the  wrong  cate- 
gory.   One  can  paint  the  common-place  in  beautiful 
phraseology,  and  yet  not  give  an  impression  of  uber- 
nature.     It  is  Stanley  who  has  said,  "Idealism  is  a 
mode  of  realism,  and  realism  is  but  the  ideal  of  act- 
uality." ^"^ 
Princess  Maleine,  his  very  first  play,  is  remark- 
ably simple  in  plot,  a  story  which  could  have  hap- 
pened, doubtless  did  happen,  in  the  times  in  which  it 
is  laid.     Yet  it  is  related  in  such  a  peculiar  manner 
that  it  ceases  to  have  any  suggestion  of  probability, 
altho  as  one  reads  it  carefully  over  and  over,  he  will 
become  impressed  that  it  is  not  at  all  out  of  the 
bounds  of  possibility  for  the  Age  in  which  it  is 
placed.     It  is  the  ideal  of  the  actuality  of  such  a 
dramatic  episode,  it  is  bald  realism,  even  to  the  vul- 
garity of  the  leering  beggars  in  the  forest,  the  crude 
improprieties  of  the  villagers  at  Ysselmonde,  and  the 
sexual  passion  of  Queen  Anne;  but  in  its  idealism  .r 
is  like  the  "Ambition  which  o'erlcaps  itself"  of  Mac- 
beth, and  defe^its  its  own  aspirations  and  purpose. 

The  Blind  is  painfully  possible,  and  whilst  it  can 
only  be  called  an  ascription  of  an  aesthetically  ideal 
episode  which  might  have  happened  to  such  persons 
as  those  concerned,  it  has  achieved  the  ideality  of 
true  realism,  and  must  be  granted  as  conforming  to 


i6o  The  Psychology  of  Maeterlinck 


h 

V 


H       I 


I    . 


dramatic  standards.  That  it  does,  has  been  demon- 
strated at  the  Realistic  Theatre  Antoine  in  Paris.  It 
is  a  play  which  never  can  be  forgotten  by  those  who 
witness  it. 

The  Intruder,  also,  falls  within  the  rule  of  the 
dramatic  test,  altho  it  is  such  a  scene  as  only  Con- 
tinental Dramatists  care  to  write;  and,  incidentally, 
only  Continental  audiences,  or  select  audiences  else- 
where, would  endure.  But  this  does  not  reflect  upon 
Maeterlinck  as  a  Dramatist,  and  is  simply  a  criticism 
of  his  unpleasant  subject-matter.  It  is  so  painfully 
true,  that  we  can't  endure  it.  It  is  too  much  like  a 
surgeon  placing  a  scalpel  into  one's  breast,  and  then 
turning  the  blade  in  order  to  observe  the  particular 
contortion  of  anguish  which  the  muscles  would  invol- 
untarily grimace  upon  the  subject's  countenance.  It, 
too,  has  been  successful  at  Antoina's,  and  pleased 
the  somewhat  abnormal  types  who  enjoy  his  offer- 
ings. Antoine  appeals  to  the  jaded  appetite  which 
is  longing  for  a  new  sensation  to  arouse  the  Stoical 
emotions  which  are  cultivated  in  polished  social  cir- 
cles. Heaven  help  them !  A  breath  of  Nature's  pure 
air  imbibed  on  a  brisk  morning's  walk  in  the  woods 
or  over  wild  moorland  would  do  them  far  more  good. 
These  plays  are  too  much  like  absynthe  which  has 
been  banned  in  American  Cities,  and  in  some  F'uro- 
pean  Cities,  too. 

The  Seven  Princesses  is  painful,  too,  but  there  is 
a  daintiness,  a  real  aestheticism  which  makes  it  fasci- 
nating, and  takes  away  much  of  the  horror  of  the 
blunt,  plain  plot.  It  has  met  with  much  approval  on 
the  professional  stage.  It  is  true  to  all  idealistic  and 
dramatic  standards,  and  will  pass  all  tests.    It  has  a 


Maeterlinck  as  a  Dramatist 


i6i 


h 


concise  story,  well  told,  and  a  logical,  inevitable  end- 
ing. 

Pelleas  and  Melisande  has  been  highly  success- 
ful as  Operatic  Libretto,  and  I  believe  it  was  written 
for  that  purpose.    In  Grand  Opera  one  accepts  many 
plo    which  would  not  be  tolerated  if  stripped  of  their 
muoical  accompaniment.     However,  it  has  been  dis- 
cussed from  other  standpoints.     Mrs.  Patrick  Camp- 
bell seems  to  have  considered  the  possibilites  of  act- 
ing Melisande,  for  she  has  taken  issue  with  Mme. 
Maeterlinck  as  to  the  character  of  the  heroine,  and 
contends  that  she  was  far  from  innocent,  and  that 
the  symbolism  of  the  lost  wedding-ring  was  indica- 
tive of  her  loss  of  wifely  virtue.    Mme.  Maeterlinck, 
who,  better  than  any  aside  from  the  author  himself 
should  know  the  intent,  claims  the  reverse,  and  that 
Melisande  v.  as  simply  a  childish,  spotless  woman, 
too  innocent  to  be  accused  of  any  intent  of  wrongdo- 
ing, and  that  her  tendency  to  fib  was  only  a  charac- 
teristic of  the  child  fearing  corporeal  punishment. 
However,  the  construction  of  the  play  does  not  seem 
strictly  in  accord  with  the  modern  idea,  and  I  prefer 
to  place  it,   (always  disregarding  the  Opera),  as  a 
dramatic-novel. 

Alladine  and  Palomides  is  very  peculiar  in  plot,  as 
•ire  all  these  plays,  and  decidedly  unconventional  in 
Its  treatment.  It  is  couched  in  beautiful  lines  which 
win  our  admiration,  but  the  effect  of  which  would 
inevitably  be  lost  upon  the  auditor.  I  think  that 
there  is  the  reason  why  one  is  perplexed  in  placing 
M.  Maeterlinck  as  a  Dramatist  or  as  a  Novelist.  The 
Dramatist  may  write  no  end  of  philosophy  and  beau- 
ty into  his  speeches,  but  they  must  not  be  too  in- 


1 62  The  Psychology  of  Maeterlinck 


(   \ 


volved  for  ready  comprehension.  If  they  are  too 
intricate  in  thought,  the  dramatic  value  is  lost.  For 
the  auditor  either  misses  their  purport  entirely,  or  his 
attention  is  so  distracted  by  them  that  he  ruminates 
upon  the  lines  for  some  seconds,  and  misses  some 
very  vital  comment  subsequently  which  illuminates 
the  plot.  This  particular  play  is  rich  in  this  under- 
current of  philosophy,  and  caparisoned  in  gorgeous 
trappings  of  such  rich,  involute  and  intricate  tracery 
that  one  falls  into  a  contemplative  mood  and  mentally 
retards  the  plot.  It  is  not  fitted,  therefore,  for  dra- 
matic presentation,  except,  perhaps,  under  some  very 
peculiar  conditions,  such  as  the  Intimate  Theatre  in 
Boston  or  Chicago  might  offer. 

Home  has  at  kernel  a  real  dramatic  idea,  and  is 
fascinatingly  painful.  It  would  be  appreciated  by  An- 
toine's  audiences.  But  American  and  English  au- 
diences who  confessedly  go  to  the  play  for  entertain- 
ment, and  in  rare  instances  for  instruction,  would 
never  tolerate  it.  It  is  the  extreme  of  realism,  altho 
it  does  seem  to  move  a  trifle  too  slowly  in  the  pro- 
gress of  the  plot.  Greater  speed  would  make  it  more 
dramatic  and  more  griping.  But  its  torture  is  long- 
drawn  out,  and  stretched  to  such  fearful  intensity 
that  one  would  lose  the  emotional  control  and  rise  up 
and  shriek.  It  is  a  gem  of  the  realistic  class  to  which 
it  belongs,  and  deserves  a  laurel  wreath  for  its  au- 
thor. It  violates  no  vital  dramatic  requirement,  ex- 
cept, perhaps,  speed,  and  even  such  suggestion  sounds 
like  some  exigency  of  the  modern  vaudeville  manage- 
ment which  demands  that  everything  must  strive  to 
come  within  the  twenty-minute  time-limit. 

When  I  first  studied  The  Death  of  Tintagiles,  I 


Maeterlinck  as  a  Dramatist 


163 


discarded  it  as  impracticable  because  of  its  construc- 
tion, and  wealth  of  engarniture,  but  I  have  since  de- 
cided that  there  is  nothing  in  the  play  itself  which 
would  prevent  its  affective  acting,  except  the  limits  of 
emotional  possibility  of  the  players.     Some  of  its 
speeches,  as  I  have  already  mentioned,  are  filled  with 
so  many  divergent  emotions,  and  so  many  illumina- 
tions of  character  between  the  lines,  which  require  a 
remarkably  plastic  mask  and  an  audience  tuned  to 
the  vibrations  of  facial  play,  to  comprehend,  that  it 
seems  beyond  human  ability.     Gordon  Craig's  con- 
tentions in  regard  to  human  actors  being  unable  to 
play  up  to  the  demands  of  the  ultra-modern  Dra- 
matists, and  that  to  ijber-marionettes  might  more  ad- 
vantageously be  intrusted  such  interpretations,  seem 
to  be  sustained  in  this  play,  for,  altho  it  was  pre- 
sented in  London  before  the  London  Stage  Society 
for  a  Matinee,  its  greatest  success  has  been  in  the 
Puppet  Theatre  at  Munich,  Germany,  where  it  was 
depicted,  as  the  name  of  the  theatre  indicates,  by 
dolls.     It  is  strange  how  the  blank  wooden  counte- 
nances of  marionettes  can  convey  an  emotion  to  the 
auditor  across  the  footlights  when  the  living  actor 
will  fail;  but  these  little  wooden  creatures  do  im- 
press one  emotionally  to  a  remarkable  degree,  and 
their  stolid  countenances  are  uncanny,  to  say  the  least. 
Coming  to  the  plays  of  the  Transitional  Period 
when  Maeterlinck  began  to  revolt  from  his  earlier 
doctrine  of  the  inevitable  triumph  of  death  which 
grimly  ended  all,  and  took  up  the  more  cheerful  doc- 
trine of  Happiness,  as  so  beautifully  exemplified  in 
The  Blue  Bird,  we  meet  Aglavaine  and  Selysette. 
Here  Maeterlinck  falls  under  the  influence  of  the 


I 
fl 


r 


h      > 


164  The  Psychology  of  Maeterlinck 

Continental  Dramatists  of  his  time,  and  drops  into 
writing  a  plot  which  belongs  to  the  class  of  drama 
termed  Triangle  Play,  in  which  there  is  a  treatment 
of  two  persons  loved  by  a  third,  and  an  inevitable 
jealousy  and  entanglement,  with  solution  of  divorce 
or  death.     But  his  play  is  as  original  in  plot  as  any 
of  the  others,  and  is  an  attempt  at  the  reconciliation 
of  two  women  with  the  fact  that  they  both  love  the 
one  man,  and  that  his  love  for  each  is  different,  the 
one  being  purely  platonic,  the  other  sexual.     It  is  an 
attempt  to  demonstrate  the  possibilities  of  a  man 
marrying  at  different  times  women  of  direcdy  oppo- 
site attributes,  and  the  possibility  of  a  harmonious 
life  with  each,  because  the  one  is  the  complement  of 
the  other.  But  Maeterlinck  adheres  to  human  nature, 
and  works  the  logical,  truthful  ending,  that  there 
is  no  possibility  of  harmony  with  both  women  alive, 
and  that  the  death  of  one  is  essential  for  the  happi- 
ness of  the  other.     Also,  he  is  quite  true  to  nature 
and  psychology,  which  is  the  analysis  of  nature,  in 
showing  that  platonic  love  will  become  animalistic 
in  spite  of  its  cold,  unemotional  resolves.     Except 
for  its  arrangement  of  scenes,  there  is  no  reason  why 
it  should  not  be  considered  by  any  modern  audience 
of  sufficiently  intellectual  caliber  to  accept  its  hypo- 
thesis without  vulgar  peals  of  laughter  because  the 
proposition  in  logic  is  such  a  syllogism  as  to  need  no 
demonstration  to  prove  its  fallacy  and  ahsurdum. 

Sister  Beatrice,  which  has  been  exccnsively  acted, 
is  the  first  play  thus  far  which  conforms  to  all  dra- 
matic rules  and  requirements,  including  the  supreme 
test  of  holding  interested  any  and  every  audience. 
It  is  veiled  in  the  most  exquisite  of  verse,  but  it  has 


Maeterlinck  as  a  Dramatist 


165 


the  "heart-interest"  which  managers  keep  demand- 
ing, and  the  story  is  so  old  that  even  the  child  may 
understand.    It  is  the  conquest  of  love  ill-placed,  and 
the  remorse  which  inevitably  follows  sin.    It  is  such 
a  beautiful  picture  that  words  are  inadequate  to  do 
it  justice  or  pay  to  it  the  tribute  of  commendation 
which  is  deserves.    Out  of  deference  to  the  one  real 
and  vital  criticism  which  has  been  made  against  the 
play,  I  am  bound  to  mention  that  if  the  play  be 
thoughtfully  considered,  it  is  immoral  in  its  doctrines, 
for  it  seems  to  teach  that  when  we  turn  aside  into 
the  paths  of  sin,  some  other  person  will  take  our 
place,  altho  to  us  will  be  given  the  credit  for  the 
good  done  by  that  other;  and  that  love  excuses  all, 
so  that  the  sinner  can  take  her  place  with  the  saint. 
To  many,  also,  the  presence  of  the  Holy  Mother,  the 
Virgin  Mary,  upon  the  stage,  is  offensive,  as  violat- 
ing the  sense  of  the  religious.    The  play  is  so  sacred 
in  its  appeal,  that  it  does  not  seem  quite  fitted  for 
general  representation,  but  better  adapted  to  the  re- 
ligious audience. 

Ardiane  and  Barhe  Bleue  is  a  variation  of  the  fa- 
milar  Nursery  Tale,  and  there  is  no  real  reason  why 
it  should  not  please  audiences  in  pure  dramatic  pre- 
sentation. However,  it  is  a  Lyrical  Drama,  and  as 
such  is  frequently  seen  during  a  Season  of  Grand 
Opera  in  the  Metropolises  of  the  World.  It  is  clev- 
erly worked  out,  and  its  culmination  is  a  dramatic 
surprise  which  would  do  credit  to  the  most  prolific 
producer  of  dramatic  thrillers. 

Monna  Vanna,  strangely  enough,  was  rejected  by 
the  Paris  which  had  accepted  the  plays  of  ultra- 
realism  at  Antoine's.     This  may  have  been  due  in 


y 


i  I 


I 


fi  . 


1 66  The  Psychology  of  Maeterlinck 

the  first  instance  to  the  shabby  presentation  which 
was  given  it  at  a  somewhat  out-of-the-way  Theatre, 
off  the   Boulevards,  which,   perhaps,  did  not  cater 
to  the  type  of  audience  which  would  enjoy  it.     It  was 
a  real  triumph  in  Germany  and  Austria,  and  some- 
what of  a  furore  in  the  United  States.     In  London 
it  was  forbidden  a  hearing  by  the  Censor,  altho  there- 
is  nothing  in  the  play  which  would  seem  to  warrant 
such  an  exclusion.     But  of  Morals  of  the  Stage  I 
have  said  much  in  another  publication.     To  hazard 
a   reason  why  this  play  was  rejected  by  Paris,   I 
should  say  that  it  is  because  it  has  a  plot  placed  in 
Mediaeval   surroundings,   a  story  peculiar  to  suc.1 
times,  but  is  startling  in  presenting  a  Twentieth  Cen- 
tury solution,  and  the  suggestion  of  an  elopement  at 
the  end.     It  is  the  unexpected  ending  which  aston- 
ishes, and  makes  one  resentful,  for  an  audience  al- 
ways dislikes  to   feel  that  its  judgment  has  been 
at  fault,  and  that  it  has  been  tricked.     It  is  an  in- 
tensely interesting  study  of  the  love  of  two  men  of 
distinctly  different  type  for  the  same  woman.     The 
man  with  the  greater  advantages  of  heredity  and 
environment  is  grosser  than  the  man  who  has  lacked 
in  the  environment,  if  not  the  heredity,  and  supple- 
mented by  education  his  deficiences.     Prinzivalle  is 
unquestionably  the  better  man  of  the  two,  and  there 
surely  is  no  one  who  will  not  wish  him  and  Monna 
Vanna  a  long,  happy  life  afterward.  Of  course,  there 
is  some  quibble  to  be  raised  concerning  the  conduct 
of  Monna  Vanna,  but  she  had  put  her  husband  to  a 
fearful  test,  and  ought  not  to  have  been  quite  so  sur- 
prised to  find  him  wanting,— it  was  so  characteristic 
of  most  men!— yet  Prinzivalle  had  proven  himself 


Maeterlinck  as  a  Dramatist 


167 


su  generous,  and  was  so  free  from  scif*seeklng,  that 
(.juido  showed  far  from  a  chivalrous  nature,  and 
Monna  Vanna  seems  justified  in  rejecting  him  and 
savi'-^  Prinrivalle  when  there  was  no  middl ,  course 
open  to  her.  Had  she  allowed  Prinzivalle  to  be  tor- 
tured, we  would  universally  have  condemned  her  as 
not  the  woman  we  had  suspected.  On  the  whole,  its 
ethics  are  not  impeachable,  and  we  must  give  her  a 
safe  convoy. 

Joyzelle  must  have  been  sugegsted  by  Monna 
ramia  and  have  been  written  by  Maeterlinck  as  a 
justification  to  himself  of  the  correctness  of  his  logic 
in  the  latter  play.  Here  he  predestines  the  man  and 
the  woman  for  each  other,  and  then  proceeds  to  sub- 
ject them  to  every  conceivable  test,  even  to  a  trial 
of  the  woman's  virtue,  as  in  Monna  Vanna,  and 
seems  to  suggest  what  Monna  Vanna  might  have 
done  to  Prinzivalle  had  he  pressed  his  presumable 
purposes  upon  her.  It  icems  a  vindication  of  the 
psychology  of  his  earlier  heroine,  and  as  such  a  tract 
we  must  accept  it.  As  a  dramatic  composition  it  is 
to  be  rejected,  for  it  is  too  improbable  for  serious 
stage  consideration.  It  is  quite  suggestive  of  our 
own  Poe's  poem  of  The  Raven,  and  one  wonders  if 
it  is  possible  that  Maeterlinck  came  under  the  spell  of 
that  poem,  as  he  did  under  the  influence  of  Emerson, 
who  has  somewhat  modified  his  natural  trend  of 
thought.  Maeterlinck  has  been  an  intense  admirer 
of  Emerson,  and  has  translated  his  Essays  into  the 
French  language. 

The  Blue  Bird  makes  so  many  demands  upon  the 
mechanical  side  of  the  theatre,  that  one  would  reject 
it  from  that  viewpoint.     It  is  because  modern  in- 


1 68  The  Psychology  of  Maeterlinck 


I 


ventions  have  made  its  scenes  realizable  that  the 
play  has  won  such  universal  success.  Stripped  of  this 
garniture,  and  its  appeal  would  not  have  been  so  ev- 
ident, altho  its  simple  philosophy  and  beautiful  sym- 
bolism would  seem  to  carry  the  play  without  any- 
thing further  than  mental  visualization.  But,  as 
comparatively  few  have  this  faculty  sufficiently  de- 
veloped, it  probably  would  have  failed  of  real  suc- 
cess. Stripped  of  its  scenery,  therefore,  it  will  have 
to  be  placed  upon  the  book-shelf. 

Mary  Magdalene  conforms  to  the  dramatic  uni- 
ties, but  is  weighted  down  with  philosophic  discus- 
sion until  the  vitality  of  the  plot  is  dangerously  weak- 
ened,  and  the  play  cannot  be  accredited  with  com- 
plete success.    I  do  not  raise  the  question  of  the  pro- 
prieties  of   presenting   Biblical   Characters,  or  the 
Voice  of  the  Saviour.    This  feature  has  been  deftly 
handled,  and  is  reasonably  free  from  cause  of  cavil. 
But  Mary  Magdalene  is  so  different  from  our  usual 
conception  of  this  Biblical  heroine,  that  one  feels 
that  there  is  something  incongruous,  and  is  resentful. 
There  is  too  much  dialogue,  the  plot  itself  is  de- 
cidedly tenuous,  and  is  easily  lost  in  the  embellish- 
ments.    However,  it  must  be  classed  in  the  actable 

list. 

To  summarize,  the  plays  which  are  unquestion- 
ably actable  and  of  rather  general  appeal,  are  Sis- 
ter Beatrice,  Monna  Vanna,  Mary  Magdalene,  and 
yhe  Blue  Bird,  and  in  that  order.  Without  ques- 
tion. The  Blue  Bird  should  head  the  list  as  having 
achieved  the  greatest  triumph,  but  is  placed  last  be- 
cause its  success  as  acted  drama  depends  so  very 
largely  upon  its  scenic  investiture,  and  the  always  ar- 


Maeterlinck  as  a  Dramatist 


169 


t: 


dent  appeal  of  childhood  and  youth  with  their  de- 
lightful naivete. 

The  Blind,  Home,  The  Intruder,  and  The  Seven 
Princesses,  must  also  be  ranked  as  actable,  and  the 
blame  for  their  general  rejection  by  the  Stage  be 
placed  upon  their  intensity  of  emotions,  and  our  un- 
willingness to  be  so  roused  by  the  pathetic  and  the 

horrible. 

Pelleas  and  Melisande  and  Ardiane  and  Barbe 
Bleue  evade  classification  by  relegating  them  to  the 

realm  of  Opera. 

The  Death  of  Tintagiles  and  Aglavaine  and  Sely- 
sette  are  left  to  the  Puppet  Booth  because  human  ac- 
tors seem  incapable,  collectively,  to  portray  their  emo- 
tions and  complicated  psychology. 

Joyzelle  is  left  to  the  liberty  shelf  as  a  defensive 
tract  of  the  ethics  involved  in  Monna  Vanna. 

The  Princess   Maleine  and  Alladine  and  Palo- 
mides  are  so  very  close  to  the  dividing  line,  that  it  is 
necessary  to  leave  them  on  the  library  shelf,  or  en- 
trust them  to  the  tender  (?)   mercies  of  the  mari- 
onettes, wise  little  wooden  men  with  stolid  counten- 
ances which  seem  to  bespeak  the  secrets  of  the  world. 
As  Germany  has  hailed  Gerhart  Hauptmann  as  the 
greatest  German  Dramatist  since  Goethe,  and  be- 
stowed upon  him,  November  15,  1912.  the  Nobel 
Prize  for  the  encouragement  of  idealism  m  Litera- 
ture, we  must  hail  Maurice  Maeterlinck  as  of  fore- 
most rank  with  the  few  great  Dramatists  of  the  Era. 
From  the  conventional  conception  of  what  consti- 
tutes a  Dramatist,  many  of  us  would  wish  to  ex- 
clude Hauptmann,  for  so  many  of  his  plays  are  ot 
abnormal  length,  fitted  for  enjoyment  in  entirety  only 


r 


170  The  Psychology  of  Maeterlinck 

in  the  library,  and  are  innocent  of  all  dramatic  cur- 
tains, or  real  dramatic,  moving  interest,  so  we  would 
exclude  Maeterlinck.  But  as  greater  have  crowned 
Hauptmann  with  title  of  Dramatist,  so  we  must 
crown  Maeterlinck  with  the  PVench  Palme  d'hon- 
ncur.  But  even  as  we  do  so,  we  are  obliged  to  com- 
ment, that  it  is  a  pity  that  a  man  who  is  such  an  in- 
comparable Flssayist,  should  ever  have  entered  the 
competitive  Lists  to  contend  for  the  prize  of  Drama- 
tist, when  his  peculiarities  raise  within  us  such  mixed 
emotions  that  one  is  ever  in  doubt  as  to  his  right- 
fulness to  be  classed  as  true  Dramatist,  in  the  old, 
commonly  accepted  meaning  of  that  word. 


■LJ 


STORIES  OF      iE  DRAMAS 
Chronologica,  )  /  Tabulated 


I  I 


PRINCESS  MALEINE 

Poetical  Drama  in  Five  Acts,   Twenty-four  Scenes 

Written  in   1890 

Cast 

Hjalmar,  King  of  one  part  of  Holland 
Marcellus,  King  of  another  part  of  Holland 
Prince  Hjalmar,  son  of  King  Hjalmar 
Little  Allan,  son  of  Queen  Anne 
Angus,  friend  of  Prince  Hjalmar 
Stephano,  Officer  of  Marcellus 
Vanox,  Another  Officer 
A  Chamberlain 
A  Physician 
A  Madman 
Three  Poor  Men 
Two  Old  Peasants,  A  Cowherd 
Lords,  Officers,  A  Cook,  A  Cripple,  Pilgrims,  Peas- 
ants, Servants,  Beggars,  Vagabonds,  Children, 

etc. 
Anne,  Queen  of  Jutland 
Godcliva,  wife  of  King  Marcellus 
Princess  Maleine,  daughter  of  Marcellus  and  Code- 

Ifja 
Princess  Uglyane,  daughter  of  Queen  Anne 

Maleine's  Nurse 
Seven  Nuns 

173 


I  ) 


!: 


174  The  Psychology  of  Maeterl'tnck 

An  Old  Woman 

Maids  of  Honor,  Servants,  Peasant- Women,  etc. 
Pluto,  a  Rig  Black  Dog 

The  First  Act  is  at  Harlingen;  the  others  at  the  Cas- 
tle ut  Ysselmonde  and  its  Neighborhood. 

Act  One,  Scene  One,  is  the  gardens  of  the  Castle 
at  Harlingen.  Two  Sentries  are  discussing  the 
omens  of  the  night,  as  seen  in  comets  and  shooting 
stars.  Princess  .Maleine  is  being  betrothed  to  Prince 
FIjalamar.  and  there  are  sounds  of  revelry  from  the 
Palace.  Suddenly  the  vindows  of  the  Palace  are 
smashed,  and  there  is  noise  of  combat.  Princess 
.Maleine,  "dishevelled  and  in  tears"  rushes  forth  and 
across  the  garden.  Then  King  Hjalmar  appears  from 
the  Castle  accompanied  by  his  Courtiers.  They  arc 
very  angry,  and  exit  vowing  vengeance  upon  King 
.Marcellus  and  Queen  Godeliva.  Scene  Two  is  an 
apartment  of  the  Castle,  where  Maleine  and  her 
Mother  and  the  Nurse  (the  latter  inevitable  to 
Princesses,  — at  least  in  Fairy  Plays)  !  are  spinning 
■\nd  singing  a  sad  song.  King  Marcellus  enters  and 
asks  Maleine  why  she  is  sad,  and  if  she  still  loves 
Prince  Hjalmar,  and  advises  her  to  forget  him  as 
unworthy  of  her.  She  admits  her  love  and  protests 
her  ability  to  forget  him.  King  Marcellus  in  wrath 
accuses  the  Queen  of  keeping  awake  the  sentiment 
of  love  for  the  Prince,  and  when  she  denies  the  fact, 
he  orders  Godeliva  and  the  Nurse  forth  from  his 
presence,  and  soundly  berates  the  poor  Maleine, 
vowing  to  lock  her  in  the  Tower  at  the  end  of  the 
garden  until  she  has  purged  her  soul  of  this  incon- 
venient love !    Scene  Three  is  laid  in  a  forest.   Prince 


Princess  Maleine 


175 


Hjalmar  and  Angus  come  in,  discussing  the  destruc- 
tion which  has  just  been  brought  upon  the  Palace  and 
City  of  King  Marctllus,  and  the  Prince  is  filled  with 
grief  because  reports  have  started  that  Princess  Ma- 
leine perished  in  the  holocaust.     Angus  tries  to  con- 
sole him  with  the  thought  that  Princess  Uglyane  will 
take  the  place  left  vacant  by  the  death  of  the  other. 
Scene  Four  is  laid  in  the  Tower  at  \  larlingen.     1  ler 
Maleine  and  her  faithful  Nurse  have  been  sealed 
up,  and  so  have  escaped  the  flames,  and  are  quite 
unaware  of  the  events  which  have  been  occuring. 
Their  food  is  exhausted,  and  the  Nurse  is  striving  to 
unloosen  a  stone  in  the  wall  so  that  they  may  escape. 
Suddenly  tl.c  stone   falls  out,  and  they  gaze  upon 
the  world,  but  cannot  imagine  what  has  occurred  as 
all  the   familiar  land-marks  have  vanished.     Then 
they  see  that  everything  is  blackened,   and   realize 
that  a  fire  has  blotted  out  the  town. 

Act  Two,  Scene  One,  is  in  the  forest  again,  ami 
discloses  Maleine  and  her  Nurse  aimlessly  wander- 
ing in  search  of  a  refuge.    They  meet  three  vagran^ 
men  who  offer   a   shelter  in  their  hovel,  but   Mn- 
leine   shrinks   from   their  brazen   leers   and   insists 
that  they  will  journey  to  Ysselmonde.     In  giving  th  • 
women  information  concerning'the  way,  the  men  vol- 
unteer the  news  that  Prince  Hjalmar  is  about  to  br 
married.    Scene  Two  is  in  the  Castle  at  Ysselmonde. 
The  King  is  making  love  to  Queen  Anne,  who  has 
come  to  dwell  in  his  Kingdom,  and  to  whose  daugh- 
ter, Uglyane.  Prince  Hjalmar  has  been  betrothed. 
Queen  Anne  takes  the  Prince's  hands  and  begs  him 
to  kiss  her  as  if  she  were  his  mother.     Scene  Three 
is  in  a  street  in  the  village.     Maleine  ?ind  the  Nurse 


r. 


176  The  Psychology  of  MaeterlincK 

have  at  last  arrived  at  their  destination,  and  their 
personal  appearance  is  being  frankly  discussed  by 
the  citizens.  Suddenly  a  brawl  occurs  in  the  neigh- 
boring Tavern,  caused  by  a  discussion  of  the  merits 
of  Maleine.  Even  Prince  Hjalmar  and  Angus  have 
heard  of  the  arrivals  and  come  to  gaze  at  them,  but 
the  women  conceal  their  faces  with  their  cloaks.  An- 
gus suggests  that  Maleine  will  make  a  good  maid  for 
IVincess  I  glyane.  Scene  Four  is  within  the  Castle. 
Princess  Maleine  has  now  taken  up  the  service  of  a 
menial  and  is  assisting  IJglyane  who  is  dressing  pre- 
paratory to  ,\  walk  in  the  garden  with  Hjalmar. 
Scene  Five  discovers  Maleine  knocking  at  L'glyane's 
doo'  md  informing  her  that  "The  Prince  has  left  the 
Ca-cie."  Scene  Six  is  in  the  Park  where  Prince 
H  iima  is  awaiting  Uglyane.  In  her  stead  comes 
Miiein  and  in  the  darkness  the  Prince  mistakes  her 
for  hi*  errothed.  Suddenly  the  moon  breaks  forth 
fro-"  •  clouds  and  reveals  Maleine,  and  the  Prince 
in  :  :laims,  "What  1  escaped  today!" 

.\ct  irec.  Scene  One.  is  an  apartment  within  the 
Casrle.  Fhe  P-mce  has  come  to  tell  his  father  that 
Prmcev-  Male -Mr  has  returned,  and  that  he  cannot 
now  m      y  L     vane.    He  suggests  that  Queen  Anne 

uSt  hear  the  *.  ws  gradually  from  the  King,  and  the 
Kmg  15  !^V  ivirh  terror  at  the  idea  of  telling  her 
such  tdmj.'  When  the  Queen  unexpectedly  ap- 
pears, the  I'rincc  boldly  rushes  to  break  the  news,  but 
she  foib  him  cleverly,  and  the  Prince  in  a  frenzy  of 
emotion,  rushes  forth  leaving  the  Queen  alone,  be- 
wildered at  his  abrupt  conduct.  Scene  Two  is  the 
Banquetting  Hall  where  King  Hjalmar  is  celebrating 
his  own  betrothal  to  Queen  Anne.    In  the  midst  of 


Princess  Maleine 


177 


the   festivities  Princess   Maleine,  arrayed  in  bridal 
robes,  knocks  at  the  door,  and  in  fright  at  her  un- 
anticipated appearance,  the  old  King  swoons.    Scene 
Three  is  before  the  Castle.     The  King  and  Queen 
arc   discussing  the   advisability   of   allowing   Prince 
Hjalmar  to  enjoy  the  society  of  Princess  Maleine  for 
a  short  while  longer.  The  two  devoted  ones,  Maleine 
and  the  Prince,  enter  in  converse,  and  the  Queen  tells 
Maleine  that  it  is  dangerous  for  her  to  stroll  in  the 
night  air.     A  Madman  roams  in  and  they  casually 
comment  that    nightly    he    busies    himself    digging 
graves  in  the  orchard.     The  Queen  asks  when  the 
wedding  is  to  be,  and  says  that  she  will  remain  in  the 
Palace  until  after  it  is  over.     Suddenly  Seven  Nuns 
pass  carrying  linen  for  Maleine's  trousseau.     The 
Nurse  comments  on  Maleine's  paleness  and  the  Queen 
exits  with  the  sinister  remark,  "I  should  not  be  as- 
tonished if  she  fell  sick."    Scene  Four  discovers  the 
physician  discussing  with  himself  the  probable  early 
death  of  the  King  because  of  the  unholy  influence  of 
Queen  Anne,  and  also  deciding  not  to  acquiesce  m 
supplying  them  with  a  poison  to  administer  to  Pnn- 
cess   Maleine,   and  determining  to   substitute   some 
harmless  drug  to  allay  suspicion.     Scene  Five  is  m 
the  Courtyard  of  the  Castle.     The  King  is  tellmg 
Anne  that  he  feels  that  some  one  is  trying  to  poison 
him.     Princess  Maleine  and  Prince  Hjalmar,  accom- 
panied by  Queen  Anne's  little  son,  Allan,  enter,  and 
the  King,  unable  to  bear  seeing  Maleine,  insists  upon 
leaving,  but  Queen  Anne  compels  him  to  tarry,  so  as 
to  avoid  suspicion.     Allan  volunteers  that  Uglyane, 
too,  is  sick,  so  sick  that  she  no  longer  leaves  her 
apartments.     Maleine  becomes  sleepy,  and  the  sight 


178 


The  Psychology  of  Maeterlinck 


of  her  closed  eyelids  fill  the  two  conspirators  with 
terror  and  remorse.  A  knocking  suddenly  comes  at 
the  gate, — as  in  the  murder  scene  of  Macheth, — and 
after  some  hesitation,  Prince  Hjalmar  opens  the  gate 
and  declares  that  there  is  no  one  there.  The  King  is 
still  more  disturbed  in  mind  by  this  intelligence. 

Act  Four,  Scene  One,  is  laid  in  the  gardens,  and 
here  Hjalmar  is  discovered.  Seeing  the  approach  of 
Queen  Anne,  he  decides  that  he  will  leave  the  Palace 
as  soon  as  possible  as  he  can  no  longer  endure  her  per- 
sistent presence.  Queen  Anne  enters  commenting  to 
herself  upon  Prince  Hjalmar's  coldness  toward  her. 
She  grows  angry  that  the  poison  has  worked  so  slow- 
ly upon  Maleine,  and  vows  that  she  will  administer  a 
stronger  compound,  and  then,  seeing  the  Nurse  ap- 
proaching, adds  that  she  will  rid  herself  of  that  wo- 
man today.  Queen  Anne  asks  after  the  Princess,  and 
tells  the  Nurse  that  the  Physician  advises  absolute 
rest  and  total  solitude  for  Maleine.  Scene  Two  is 
in  the  kitchen  where  the  Nuns  are  working  at  the 
trousseau.  The  sky  is  dark  and  sinister  with  portents 
and  omens  of  evil.  The  servants  have  been  ordered 
not  to  attend  the  Queen  for  the  night,  and  to  hurry 
up  with  Master  Allan's  supper.  Scene  Three  is  the 
bedchamber  of  Princess  Maleine.  She  is  alone,  ex- 
cept for  her  black  dog,  Pluto,  and  the  darkness  and 
rumble  of  the  thunder-storm  till  her  with  wild  ter- 
ror, and  especially  when  she  discovers  that  she  is 
locked  into  the  room.  Scene  Four  is  in  the  Corridor 
just  without  Maleine's  bedroom.  The  King  and 
Queen  come  down  the  corridor  carrying  a  light  which 
flickers  in  the  breeze.  The  Seven  Nuns  pass  singing 
the  Litany.     The  King  wants  to  postpone  their  er- 


Princess  Maleine 


179 


rand,  but  the  Queen  insists  upon  the  present.  The 
King  searches  in  his  garments  for  the  key,  and  finally 
finds  it,  hands  it  to  the  Queen  who  unlocks  Maleine's 
door.  As  they  enter  the  black  dog  comes  out.  Scene 
Five  is  within  the  chamber.  The  Queen  approaches 
Maleine  and  smoothes  her  brow  with  deceitful,  ten- 
der words,  then  suddenly  ties  a  cord  about  the  Prin- 
cess's neck;  but  as  she  strives  to  draw  it  tight,  Ma- 
leine leaps  from  the  bed.  The  Queen  grasps  her. 
Maleine  screams  for  help,  and  implores  that  they 
give  her  a  few  more  days  to  live,  and  not  to  kill  her 
now.  The  relentless  Queen  tightens  the  rope,  and 
the  unfortunate  child  falls  to  the  stones  dying.  She 
suffers  a  violent  contortion,  and  the  Queen  again 
seizes  the  rope  and  urges  the  King  to  pull  Maleine's 
feet  so  as  to  more  effectually  choke  her.  The  wind 
bursts  open  the  windows,  a  vase  with  a  lily  falls  with 
a  crash  to  the  floor,  and  the  King  thereupon  removes 
a  second  lily  from  the  sill  to  prevent  its  being  blown 
from  the  ledge  also.  In  confused  mind  he  stands 
shivering  in  the  cold  blast  and  holding  in  his  hand  the 
potted  lily.  At  this  awful  moment,  the  Madman 
looks  in  at  the  window,  and  the  King,  drawing  his 
sword,  slays  him,  and  the  body  is  heard  splashing 
into  the  waters  of  the  moat  beneath  the  window.  The 
dog  scratches  and  whines  without  at  the  door.  The 
King  goes  mad  with  fear.  The  Nuns  are  heard  pass- 
ing down  the  corridor,  still  chanting  the  Litany.  The 
Nurse  comes  to  the  door  crying  wildly  to  Maleine. 
Then  Prince  Hjalmar  and  Little  Allan  are  heard  ap- 
proaching, and  stopping  to  talk  to  the  dog.  Little 
Allan  is  heard  crying  pitifully  and  prophetically  de- 
claring that  "My  mamma  is  lostl"     Then  he  con- 


i8o 


The  Psychology  of  Maeterlinck 


t' 


tentedly  begins  playing  ball  against  the  closed  door. 
In  another  moment  the  child  has  heard  the  heavy, 
difficult  breathing  of  the  murderers,  and  declares  that 
"There  is  a  little  boy  behind  the  door."  At  last  the 
three  persons  without  depart,  and  the  King  strives  to 
open  the  door,  altho  the  Queen  urges  that  the  cord 
must  be  cut  away  from  Maleine's  throat  in  hopes  to 
mislead  investigators.  However,  the  King  is  too 
overcome  by  terror  to  tarry,  and  flees  the  room. 

Act  Five,  Scene  One,  is  in  the  graveyard,  and  a 
great  crowd  is  cringing  in  terror  becouse  of  the  aw- 
ful storm  which  is  raging.     Scene  Two  is  in  a  recep- 
tion-hall of  the  Palace,  just  without  the  Chapel  of 
the  Castle.    A  group  of  Courtiers  are  huddled  in  ter- 
ror, whilst  from  the  Chapel  come  sounds  of  the  Sev- 
en Nuns  singing.    No  one  seems  to  know  where  is  the 
King  or  Queen.    Just  then  his  Majesty's  approach  is 
announced.     Prince  Hjalmar  goes  to  meet  him,  and 
is  astonished  to  observe  that  his  hair  is  smeared  with 
blood;   but  the  Queen,  with  ready  presence  of  mind, 
explains  that  the  King  has  had  a  fall.     There  comes 
a  knocking,  and  one  opening  the  door  announces  the 
Nurse,  who  is  denied  admittance,  altho  she  gets  a 
glimpse  of  the  King  sufficiently  long  to  comment  upon 
the  fact  that  his  hair  has  turned  white!    The  Prince 
suggests  that  they  all  go  in  to  the  Services,  but  the 
King  replies,  "I  would  rather  not  pray  tonight."    As 
he  sits  he  suddenly  notices  that  the  design  of  the 
tapestry  upon  the  wall  facing  him  is  The  Slaughter 
of  the  Innocents,  and  orders  it  removed,  only  to  be 
more  shocked  by  the  one  hanging  beneath,  which  is 
The   Last  Judgment.      A  flight  of  swans  is  seen 
through  the  window  and  the  Prince  comments  that 


Princess  Maleine 


i8i 


"There  is  one  dead."  The  King  is  thrown  into  a 
violent  fit  of  passion,  and  says  that  some  one  has  told 
them  the  truth.  Then  he  leaps  up  and  exits.  Scene 
Three  is  in  the  corridor  just  without  Maleine's  room. 
The  black  dog  is  still  scratching  and  whining  pitfully. 
The  Nurse  comes  down  the  hall  with  a  light.  In  a 
moment  Prince  Hjalmar  joins  her,  and  they  knock 
at  the  door.  The  tocsin  sounds  loudly  as  if  from 
the  very  room,  and  then  they  discover  that  the  door 
is  unlocked.  The  Nurse  enters,  only  to  reappear  im- 
mediately declaring  that  something  has  happened, 
and  that  Maleine  has  fallen  upon  the  floor.  Prince 
Hjalmar  runs  down  the  corridor  for  a  light  and  then 
both  enter  and  discover  that  Maleine  is  dead  I  Scene 
Four  is  in  the  Bedroom.  Their  cries  have  attracted 
the  Courtiers  and  Servants,  the  King  and  the  Queen. 
The  Queen  declares  that  the  King  is  mad,  but  he  pro- 
tests that  he  is  not,  and  that  it  was  the  Queen  who 
slew  the  little  Princess  Maleine.  In  frenzy  the  Prince 
stabs  the  Queen  who  dies.  Then  he  turns  the  sword 
upon  himself  and  falls  lifeless  across  Maleine's  stif- 
fening form.  The  King  is  now  completely  unbal- 
anced and  babbles  of  the  murder,  going  into  details  of 
the  horror  of  it,  then  is  anxious  for  his  breakfast,  and 
thinks  only  of  what  he  shall  have  to  eat,  and  then 
his  mind  wanders  to  his  own  loneliness  in  the  coming 
years.  Day  breaks,  a  Cock  crows  on  the  wall,  the 
Nuns  chant  the  Miserere  and  begin  to  prepare  the 
bodies  for  burial 


MICROCOPY    RESOLUTION    TEST    CHART 

ANSI  and  ISO  TEST  CHART  No    2> 


1.0 


I.I 


'-  IIIIIM 

;:  iiiiM 


2.5 
2.2 

2.0 


1.8 


1.25 


1.4 


1.6 


A     APPLIED  IM/IGE     Inc 


lb-;'    Las'  Mgi-^    Street 

f^oCeste'.  Ne*    -crk         '4b09 

'  "'■e      ^.^^  -  OJOO  -  Phone 

■.  *'►■,'    rsa  -  *d989  -  Fa« 


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THE  1LIND 


Drama  in  One  Act  and  One  Scene 


Ascribed  to  Year  1890 


l\     ! 


V.       I     I 


Cast 

The  Priest 

Three  Men  Who  Were  Born  Blind 

A  Very  Old  Blind  Man 

Fifth  Blind  Man  (also  Deaf) 

Sixth  Blind  Man   (able  to  distinguish  daylight  and 

dark) 
Three  Old  Blind  Women  (constantly  Praying) 
An  Exceedingly  Old  Blind  Woman 
A  Young  Blind  Girl 
A  Blind  Madwoman 
An  Infant  Child  (the  Madwoman's) 
A  Dog 

Place  :—/ln  ancient  Norland  Forest. 

The  scene  discloses  a  virgin  forest  in  twilight.  In 
the  center  sits  a  Priest  his  eyes  open,  staring,  glazed 
in  death.  On  one  side  of  him  sit  six  blind  men;  op- 
posite to  them  six  blind  women,  three  of  whom  are 
murmuring  prayers,  and  one  of  whom  holds  a  tiny 
infant  on  her  lap;  this  woman  is  also  bereft  of  men- 
tal vision, — is  mad.  As  the  plot  unfolds  we  discover 
that  these  hapless  individuals  are  inmates  of  an  Asy- 
lum watched  over  by  the  aged  priest  and  three  faith- 
ful nuns;  that  in  the  early  morning  of  late  Fall  they 

182 


The  Blind 


183 


had  set  out,  much  against  their  wishes,  but  at  the  ur- 
gency of  the  old  priest,  to  enjoy  the  warm  rays  of 
the  shortening  sun;  that  they  had  been  led  hither, 
and  that  the  priest  had  started  after  a  drink  of  water 
to  satisfy  the  thirst  of  one  of  the  women,  and  that 
they  now  are  wearily  and  querulously  awaiting  his 
return  to  them.  They  know  not  that  it  is  night,  nor 
the  way  homeward,  for  all  have  come  from  various 
parts  of  the  country  and  are  unfamiliar  with  the 
Island  where  is  situated  the  Asylum  which  they  had 
left  earlier  in  the  day.  One  of  the  men  holds  up  the 
infant  in  hopes  that  it  may  cry  at  the  sight  of  the  sun, 
and  so  give  them  a  sense  of  direction.  The  familiar 
dog  appears,  and  is  gladly  welcomed,  for  they  believe 
that  the  priest  must  soon  return.  But  the  dog  directs 
them  toward  the  priest,  and  in  horror  they  discover 
that  their  guardian  has  died  I  The  youngest  of  the 
blind  women  insists  that  she  hears  approaching  foot- 
steps, but  the  others  insist  that  it  is  nought  but  the 
dead  leaves  dropping,  and  that  they  must  linger  here 
and  perish.  At  this  point  Maeterlinck  leaves  them, 
victims  of  the  negative  Will  which  casts  its  balance 
with  the  evil  in  that  of  three  courses  open,  to  move 
and  risk  discovering  the  path  homeward,  or  a  dan- 
gerous path  leading  into  the  sea,  or  the  third  alterna- 
tive of  remaining  passive  to  eventually  perish  from 
the  chill  of  the  night  and  famine. 

This  play  has  been  extremely  successful  at  An- 
toine's  Theatre  Libre  in  Paris. 


iff! 


\i 


p  ^ 


;        i 


THE  INTRUDER 

Drama  in  One  Act  and  One  Scene 

Ascribed  to  Year  1890 

Cast 

The  Blind  Grandfather 
The  Father 
The  Uncle 

The  Three  Daughters 
The  Sister  of  Charity 
The  Maid-Servant 

Scene:— A  Gloomy  Room  in  an  Old  Chateau. 
Present  Day. 


The 


This  is  another  realistic  play  but  so  horrible  that 
few  could  sit  through  its  performance.  Still,  it  has 
been  successfully  performed  at  Antoine's. 

The  story  is  simple.  It  is  the  living-room  of  ;i 
chateau.  Around  the  table  sit  the  Father,  the  Uncle, 
and  three  little  girls.  The  oil-lamp  shines  brightly 
upon  their  happy,  peaceful  circle.  A  little  removed, 
and  in  the  shadow,  sits  the  old,  blind  grandfather.  In 
an  adjoining  room  lies  the  mother,  sick  unto  death; 
and  in  another  room,  alone,  struggling  in  its  feeble 
little  way,  a  new-born  babe.  The  grandfather  keeps 
insisting  that  there  is  some  one  in  their  midst,  and 
keeps  inquiring  who  it  is.  A  door  below  opens, 
steps  are  heard  ascending,  and  then  a  knock.    The 

184 


The  Intruder 


185 


Uncle  opens  the  door  and  speaks  with  the  maid-ser- 
vant who  has  come  concerning  household  matters. 
She  descends.  The  Grandfather  again  insists  that 
some  one  has  entered.  They  again  deny.  The  child 
screams  in  terror,  and  a  moment  later,  the  door  of 
the  mother's  room  opens  softly,  and  the  Sister  of 
Charity,  who  has  been  watching  at  her  bedside, 
stands  in  the  doorway  making  the  sign  of  the  cross, 
whereupon  all  the  o.cupants  enter  the  room,  leaving 
alone  the  old  grandfather  who  alone  heard  the  steps 
of  the  invisible  one,  the  unwelcome  guest.  Death. 

Such  is  the  plain  plot.  But  what  a  world  of  mean- 
ing lies  veiled  beneath !  What  wonderful  symbolism 
one  can  read  into  the  lines  I 


THE  SEVEN  PRINCESSES 


I  I 


1^  I 


\\  ■     ■: 


Drama  in  One  Act  and  One  Scene 

Ascribed  to  Year  1891 

Cast 
The  Old  King 
The  Old  Queen 
The  Prince 
The  Seven  Princesses 
A  Messenger 
Chorus  of  Sailors 

Scene  .—A  Marble  Hall  in  the  Palace. 

The  stage  is  divided  in  twain  by  great  glass  doors, 
on  one  side  of  which  is  a  marble  landing  commanding 
a  view  of  the  sea,  and  one  into  the  marble  hall  within 
the  doors  which  are  reached  by  a  flight  of  broad, 
marble  steps,  covered  with  velvet  cushions  upon 
which  are  peacefully  sleeping,  their  hands  entwined, 
the  seven  little  sisters,  the  Princesses.  A  pale,  sickly 
flame  of  a  lamp  illumines  the  sleepers,  whilst  the  sink- 
ing sun  lights  the  landing.  On  the  terrace  the  aged 
king  and  queen  are  watching  the  approach  of  a  man- 
of-war  which  is  bearing  the  prince  who  is  betrothed 
to  Ursula,  the  center  one  of  the  sleeping  princesses. 
The  prince  enters,  and  the  king  and  queen  reproach 
him  for  his  long  time  in  coming,  and  tell  him  that  the 
princesses  have  grown  sick  in  body  waiting  for  him, 
and  now,  worn  and  weary,  exhausted  by  the  damp- 
ness and  the  grey  of  this  strange  part  of  the  country, 

186 


The  Seven  Princesses 


187 


have  laid  them,  as  is  their  custom,  upon  these  steps 
to  sleep  in  the  warmth  of  the  few  rays  of  the  after- 
noon sun.  The  prince  looks  through  the  glass,  and 
with  difficulty  makes  out  the  sleeping  sisters.  Grad- 
ually one  sister  becomes  clearer,  Ursula,  and  after 
that  he  sees  only  her.  A  shadow  and  mist  seem  to 
envelop  the  hall.  The  queen  decides  that  it  is  time 
to  awaken  the  sleepers,  and  taps  upon  the  windows; 
the  princesses  do  not  stir.  She  raps  more  violently, 
and  importunes  the  king  and  prince  to  do  the  same ; 
but  the  task  is  futile;  the  girls  sleep  on.  Rain  falls, 
and  the  voices  of  sailors  can  be  heard  singing  on  the 
man-of-war  which  is  preparing  to  leave  the  harbor. 
The  queen  becomes  more  and  more  alarmed,  and  at 
length,  as  the  doors  fail  to  open,  the  prince  decides 
to  enter  through  the  vault  where  lie  buried  his  ances- 
tors, including  his  dear  mother.  He  descends,  and 
in  a  few  moments,  which  seem  an  age  to  those  wait- 
ing upon  the  terrace,  he  reappears  through  a  trap  in 
the  floor  of  the  marble  hall.  He  approaches  the 
princesses.  One  by  one  they  awaken  and  arise  to 
greet  him, — all  but  Ursula.  They  turn  to  awaken  her 
and  find, — alas,  that  she  will  never  awaken  again  on 
this  earth!  Tenderly  they  lift  her  form  and  begin 
to  ascend  the  seven  marble  steps  toward  the  frantic 
king  and  queen  who  are  sobbing  wildly  upon  the  ter- 
race without.  Upon  their  frantic  cries  to  those  with- 
in the  hall  of  "Open !  Open  1"  the  curtain  mercifully 
descends. 


PELLEAS  AND  MELISANDE 

Drama  in  Five  Acts  and  Seventeen  Scenes 

Ascribed  to  Year  1892 

Cast 

Arkel,  King  of  Allemonde 

Genevieve,  Mother  of  Pelleas  and  Golaud 

Pelleas,  Grandson  of  Arkel 

Golaud,  Another  Grandson 

Melisande 

Little  Yniold,  Golaud's  Son  by  a  former  marriage 

A  Physician 

The  Porter 

Servants,  Beggars,  etc. 

Place:— An  Old  Castle  and  its  Environs. 

Act  First,  Scene  One,  is  at  the  gate  of  the  Castle. 
A  number  of  maid-servants  are  quarreling  with  a 
Porter,  urging  him  to  open  the  great  gates  so  that 
they  may  scrub  clean  the  marble  steps  which  are  so 
soiled  by  time  that  whiteness  seems  to  be  forever 
banished.  Scene  Two,  is  a  forest  where  Golaud  finds 
himself  lost  whilst  out  hunting.  He  comes  upon 
Melisande  who  is  weeping  and  declaring  that  she, 
too,  is  lost,  and  that  she  has  just  dropped  her  golden 
crown  into  the  shallow  pool  of  water,  but  still  she  re- 
fuses to  allow  Golaud  to  pull  it  out  on  pain  of 

188 


PelUas  and  Milisande 


189 


plunging  into  the  depths  herself.  She  then  com- 
plains of  being  cold,  and  Golaud  undertakes  to  pilot 
her  to  safety,  altho  he  declares  as  they  exit  that  he 
does  not  know  whither  their  feet  are  turned,  for  "I 
am  lost  too!"  Scene  Three  is  a  hall  of  the  Castle 
where  the  old  Arkel  and  Genevieve,  live.  They  are 
pondering  a  letter  from  Golaud  which  announces  his 
desire  to  return  to  Court  with  Melisande,  his  wife. 
His  brother  Pelleas  enters  weeping  because  his  friend 
Marcellus  is  sick  unto  death  and  is  urgent  that  he 
should  come  to  him  before  he  die.  His  relatives  per- 
suade him  to  await  the  return  of  Golaud.  Scene  Four 
is  without  the  Castle.  Queen  Genevieve  and  Meli- 
sande enter  Slacking  the  last  rays  of  the  fading  sun. 
They  watch  the  ship  which  brought  Melisande  dis- 
appear into  the  thickening  night.  Pelleas  joins  them 
on  the  terrace.  Genevieve  leaves  them  alone,  and 
Pelleas  takes  Melisande's  hand  and  guides  her  back 
to  the  Palace,  telling  her  that  he  must  depart  tomor- 
row.   Melisande  protests  that  he  shall  remain. 

Act  Two  introduces  us  to  the  Gardens  of  the  Pal- 
ace where  Pelleas  and  Melisande  are  talking.  Meli- 
sande persists  in  leaning  over  the  brim  of  an  ex- 
ceedingly deep  spring,  and  tossing  her  wedding-ring 
into  the  air  to  see  its  rays  reflected  upon  the  spark- 
ling waters.  Suddenly  the  anticipated  happens,  and 
the  ring  falls  into  the  depths.  Instantly  she  is  filled 
with  terror  and  begins  to  wonder  how  to  explain  to 
Golaud  its  absence  from  her  finger.  Pelleas  candidly 
advises,  "Tell  him  the  truth."  Scene  Two  is  laid  in 
Golaud's  bedroom,  with  himself  stretched  upon  the 
bed,  and  Melisande  attending  him.  He  has  been 
thrown  from  his  horse  and  suffered  an  injury.    Sud- 


I''    ' 


190  The  Psychology  of  Maeterlinck 

denly  Melisande  bursts  into  tears  and  declares  that 
she  feels  that  she  shall  not  live  much  longer.     She 
admits  that  there  is  something  strange  in  the  eyes  of 
Pclleas,  but —  Her  husband  interrupts  her  protests 
by  discovering  that  the   ring  is  missing  from  her 
liand.     Instantly  she  begins  to   fabricate,  and  says 
that  the  ring  was  dropped,  she  knows  where,  that 
she  went  into  a  cave,  and  was  driven  out  by  the  ris- 
mg  tide.    Golaud  imperatively  orders  her  to  go  after 
the  ring,  and  in  spite  of  her  protests  he  causes  her  to 
depart  into  the  night,  promising  that  Pelleas  will  ac- 
company her  if  she  is  afraid  to  go  alone.     Scene 
Three  is  before  the  grotto  whither  she  has  repaired 
with  Pelleas  merely  that  she  may  know  what  the  cav- 
ern looks  like  where  she  told  Golaud  she  had  dropped 
her  wedding-ring.    Three  beggars  are  sleeping  with- 
in, so  they  depart  without  any  attempt  at  entering. 
Scene  Four  is  very  brief,  a  few  sentences  from  King 
.^rkel  urging  Pelleas  to  consent,  as  he  finally  does,  to 
remain  a  few  days  longer  at  the  Castle,  for  Marcel- 
lus  is  dead  and  buried. 

Act  Three  discloses  Melisande  working  at  her 
distaff  with  Pelleas  near  to  amuse  her.  Little  Yniold, 
Golaud's  child  by  a  former  marriage,  is  present  with 
them,  and  keeps  seeing  strange  sights  at  the  win- 
dow-pane. Suddenly  he  sees  his  father  returning 
home,  and  runs  to  the  door  to  meet  him.  Golaud  is 
surprised  that  his  wife  and  brother  are  sitting  alone 
in  the  deepening  twilight.  Scene  Two  is  without  a 
tower  of  the  Castle.  Melisande  is  combing  her  hair 
in  the  window.  Pelleas  comes  past,  stops  to  ad- 
mire, her  hair  falls  out  the  window  and  ensnares  him. 
Golaud  enters  and  finds  his  brother  enwrapped  in 


Pelleas  and  Melts ande 


191 


Melisande's  hair,  is  irritated,  but  dismisses  the  affair 
with  a  nervous  laugh,  calling  them  both  "children." 
Scene  Three  discovers  Golaud  and  Pelleas  exploring 
the  vaults  beneath  the  Castle  to  discover  the  source 
of  a  stench  which  pervades  the  Castle.  They  finally 
attribute  it  to  several  stagnant  pools.  Scene  Four  is 
just  without  the  vaults,  and  Golaud  warns  Pelleas 
to  be  less  attentive  to  Melisande  in  future.  Scene 
P  ive  is  just  without  Melisande's  Tower,  and  here  Go- 
laud is  questioning  his  son,  Yniold-  as  to  how  Pelleas 
and  Melisande  deport  themselves  when  he  is  away, 
and  learns  nothing  which  is  in  any  way  incriminat- 
ing. Maddened,  Golaud  raises  Yniold  and  makes 
him  look  in  at  Melisande's  window  and  tell  him 
what  is  passing  within.  The  two,  Pelleas  and  Meli- 
sande, are  standing  against  the  wall,  not  speaking. 
The  child  cries  in  terror,  and  Golaud  takes  him 
down  and  strides  off  to  see  what  has  occurred  within 
the  room. 

Act  Four,  Scene  One,  is  a  corridor  of  the  Castle. 
Pelleas  and  Melisande  enter  and  agree  upon  a  fare- 
well meeting  in  the  Park,  at  the  spring  where  the  wed- 
ding-ring had  been  lost.  Scene  Two  is  an  apartment 
in  the  Castle.  King  Arkel  promises  Melisande  that 
now  that  they  are  all  in  good  health  again  things  will 
be  livelier,  and  that  she  will  be  happier.  Melisande 
says  that  she  has  not  been  unhappy.  Just  then  Go- 
laud enters  seeking  his  sword,  and  rudely  shakes  oft 
the  touch  of  Melisande  who  approaches  him.  Sud- 
denly he  turns,  grasps  Melisande  by  the  hair,  and 
compels  her  to  creep  on  her  knees  before  him,  whilsr 
he  drives  her  about  the  apartment  using  her  lon.<! 
braids  as  reins.    He  leaves  as  abruptly  as  he  had  en- 


'  I 


III 


192  The  Psychology  of  Maeterlinck 

tered,  and  poor  Arkel,  raising  the  fainting  M41i. 
sande,  says,  "If  I  were  God  I  would  have  pity  on 
men's  hearts."  Scene  Three  discovers  little  Yniold 
striving  to  lift  a  heavy  flag-stone  to  recover  his  lost 
golden  ball,  and  asking  of  a  passing  shepherd  why 
the  sheep  are  crying  so,  to  which  the  shepherd 
makes  reply,  "Because  it  is  no  longer  the  road  to  the 
stable."  Scene  Four  is  the  fountain  in  the  Park. 
Pelleas  comes  to  keep  his  tryst  with  Melisande  and 
to  say  Goodbye.  Just  as  they  indulge  in  an  embrace 
and  a  passionate  kiss,  the  maddened  Golaud  rushes 
in  with  drawn  sword,  slays  Pelleas,  casting  his  body 
into  the  depths  of  the  well,  whilst  poor  Melisande 
flees  in  terror. 

Act  Fifth,  Scene  One,  is  laid  in  the  kitchen  of  the 
Castle,  with  the  servants  discussing  the  affairs,  in- 
cluding the  illness  of  Melisande,  who  has  given  birth 
to  a  tiny  babe.  They  decide  that  it  is  time  to  go 
upstairs.  Scene  Two  is  the  apartment  where  Meli- 
sande lies  ill.  The  Physician  says  that  she  is  dying 
from  some  injury  greater  than  the  visible  wound 
which  she  bears.  She  awakens  and  cries  to  have  the 
window  thrown  wide.  Suddenly  Golaud  asks  his 
father  and  the  physician  to  retire,  and,  left  alone 
with  his  wife,  begins  to  question  her  and  to  beg  her 
forgiveness.  He  insists  upon  her  telling  the  truth 
concerning  her  relations  with  Pelleas.  She  is  sur- 
p-ised  by  his  doubts,  but  before  he  can  wring  further 
confession,  the  other  two  men  re-enter.  Suddenly 
Arkel  asks  Melisande  if  she  will  see  her  child,  and 
she  is  surprised  to  know  that  she  has  a  little  one,  and 
manifests  curious  desire  to  see  it.  The  baby  is 
brought    in,    and    poor    Melisande    finds    herself 


Pelleas  and  Melisande 


193 


too  weak  tc  even  raise  her  arms  to  hold  the  tiny  bur- 
den of  humanity.  Unnoticed  the  servants  enter  the 
room  and  line  the  walls.  Golaud  is  angry  at  their 
presence,  but  his  words  are  silenced  by  the  Phy- 
sician. Melisande  closes  her  eyes,  and  suddenly  the 
servants  drop  to  their  knees  in  prayer,  and  the  Phy- 
sician announces  gravely,  "They  are  right."  The 
bereaved  husband  bursts  into  sobs,  and  sadly  King 
Arkel  exits  with  the  little  baby  in  his  arms,  shaking 
his  head  and  saying,  "She  must  live  now  in  her  place. 
It  is  the  poor  little  one's  turn." 

This  play  is  typical  of  the  cycle  of  life.  As  one 
lays  down  the  burden,  another  must  take  it  up  and 
begin  the  weary  round  of  disappointment,  sadness 
and  death. 


ALLADINE  AND  PALOMIDES 

Drama  in  Five  Acts  and  Ten  Scenes 

Ascribed  to  Year  1894 

Cast 

Ablamore 

Astolaine,  Daughter  of  Ablamore 

Alladine 

Palomides 

The  Sisters  of  Palomides 

A  Physician 

Palace: — An  Old  Castle. 

Act  One  is  laid  in  the  gardens  of  the  Palace,  with 
King  Ablamore  bending  over  Alladine  who  is  sleep- 
ing on  a  marble  bench,  her  pet  lamb  nestling  upon 
her  bosom.  Suddenly  she  awakens  from  a  bad  dream, 
and  declares  that  some  one  is  approaching.  Just  then 
Palomides  enters  leading  his  horse  by  the  bridle.  He 
is  betrothed  to  Princess  Astolaine,  and  has  arrived  a 
few  days  earlier  than  that  appointed  for  the  cere- 
mony. The  lamb  frightens  the  horse.  The  three 
enter  the  palace,  which  Alladine  declares  was  never 
intended  for  her,  as  she  loses  her  way  in  its  many 
rooms,  and  that  it  is  as  a  labyrinth  from  which  she 
seems  to  find  no  way  of  escape. 

Act  Two  discloses  Alladine  sadly  gazing  from  a 
window  of  the  palace,  wondering  at  the  series  of 

194 


Alladine  and  Palomides 


195 


fountains  which  the  King  tells  her  he  raised  one  by 
one  as  each  of  his  daughters  died.  Suddenly  she  be- 
gins to  cry,  and,  alarmed,  the  King  runs  to  the  rear 
of  the  hall,  throws  open  the  doors,  and  discloses 
Palomides  seated  just  without  with  Alladine's  pet 
lamb  beside  him!  Scene  Two  is  a  drawbridge  over 
the  moat.  Alladine  and  her  lamb  are  crossing  the 
moat  to  meet  Palomides.  King  Ablamore  is  leaning 
from  a  window  of  the  Castle  watching  them.  Sud- 
denly the  lamb  slips  and  falls  into  the  rushing  waters 
of  the  moat  and  is  swept  from  sight  into  an  under- 
ground passage  beneath  the  castle.  King  Ablamore 
rushes  in  and  quickly  draws  Alladine  from  the  dan- 
gers of  the  bridge,  where  she  is  leaning  over  the  rail 
crying  frantically  after  the  disappearing  lamb.  Scene 
Three  discovers  King  Ablamore  chiding  Alladine  for 
undue  interest  in  Palomides.  The  King  grows  vio- 
lent, and  wrenches  her  arm,  striving  to  learn  the 
truth  concerning  her  relations  with  Palomides;  but 
she  endures  the  pain'  and  keeps  her  secret.  Scene 
Four  is  Astolaine's  apartment.  Palomides  is  break- 
ing his  engagement  with  his  sweetheart,  but  still  pro- 
testing that  he  loves  her  more  than  Alladine  whom 
he  is  planning  to  wed ! 

Act  Third,  King  Ablamore  meets  his  daughter  and 
tells  her  that  he  understands  her  reason  for  sorrow. 
Scene  Two  is  a  conversation  between  Alladine  and 
Palomides  in  which  she  is  inquisitive  to  know  how 
Astolaine  bore  the  news  of  his  desire  to  wed  herself, 
and  of  his  faithlessness  to  her.  Scene  Three  is  a  cor- 
ridor of  the  Castle.  Astolaine  and  Palomides's  Sis- 
ters enter  to  seek  Alladine  and  assist  her  to  elope  with 
Palomides  in  order  to  escape  the  murderous  intent  of 


I  1  - 
I  ■ 


i: 


-. 


196  The  Psychology  of  Maeterlinck 

old  King  Ablamore.  Suddenly  the  King  appears, 
and  they  conceal  themselves.  He  sits  down,  and  in 
utter  weariness  falls  asleep  on  the  bench.  Astolaine 
covers  his  face  with  a  handkerchief.  Palomides 
joins  them,  takes  the  keys  from  the  hands  of  the 
sleeping  King,  and,  unlocking  the  bedroom  door,  en- 
ters, only  to  rush  forth  in  terror.  Just  then  the  King 
awakens,  opens  the  closed  shutters,  and  shows  them 
that  Alladine  was  only  asleep.  Then  he  forces  the 
two  lovers  to  kiss  each  other.  With  no  further 
words  he  closes  the  shutters  once  more. 

Act  Four  takes  us  into  the  subterranean  cellars  of 
the  palace,  and  here  we  find  Palomides  and  Alladine 
bandaged  and  pinioned.  With  much  effort  they  re- 
lease themselves,  and  learn  that  they  are  in  great 
caverns,  with  beautiful  blue  walls,  grown  over  with 
lustrous  flowers.  Suddenly  they  find  themselves  on 
the  brink  of  a  precipice  with  sparkling  water  beneath 
them.  Just  then  a  noise  of  iron  is  heard,  a  stone  is 
detached  from  the  wall,  and  the  rays  of  the  sun  pene- 
trate. In  the  light  of  day  they  realize  that  their 
Fairy  Cavern  is  but  the  loathsome,  slimy  cellars,  and 
that  the  beautiful  pool  is  a  sickly,  stagnant  vault,  in 
which  the  disintegrating  remains  of  the  poor  lamb  are 
floating.  They  recoil,  sick  and  frightened,  and  slip- 
pmg,  roll  into  the  slimy  waters,  just  as  Astolaine  and 
Palomides's  Sisters  enter.    They  rush  to  their  rescue. 

Act  Five  is  a  corridor  with  doors  on  either  side  in 
perspective.  Astolaine  and  the  Sisters  are  talking  to 
the  Physician,  who  holds  out  but  little  hope  for  the 
recovery  of  the  lovers  who  lie  ill  in  rooms  on  oppo- 
site sides  of  the  hall.  Alladine  is  heard  calling  weak- 
ly to  Palomides,  and  then  he  is  heard  answering.  As 


Alladine  and  Palomides 


197 


they  listen  in  anguish,  the  Nurse  opens  Palomides's 
door  and  makes  a  sign  that  he  is  dead.  The  women 
silently  enter  the  chamber,  closing  the  door  after 
them.  There  is  a  moment's  pause,  then  the  opposite 
door  opens,  the  Nurse  steps  out,  makes  a  similar  sign 
of  death,  sees  that  the  hall  is  empty,  and  quietly  with- 
draws into  the  room  whence  she  had  stepped,  leaving 
the  door  open  behind  her. 


I  ! 


i: 


HOME 

Drama  in  One  Act  and  One  Scene 

Ascribed  to  Year  1';^,^ 

Cast 

in  the  garden 

The  Old  iMan 

The  Stranger 

Martha,  The  Old  Man's  Granddaughter 

Mary,  Another  Granddaughter 

A  Peasant 

The  Crowd 


IN  THE  HOUSE 


¥' 


Silent  Characters— 
The  Father 
The  Mother 
The  Two  Daughters 
The  Child 


Scene:— An  Old  Garden  outside  of  the  Home. 
Time  :  —  The  Present. 

This  is  one  of  the  most  poignantly  pathetic  pic- 
tures of  the  many  that  Maeterlinck  has  painted.  The 

198 


Home 


199 


single  scene  is  a  garden  without  the  house.  Through 
the  open  windows  can  be  seen  a  happy  family  gath- 
ered about  the  cheerful  rays  of  the  lamp.  There  is 
.he  father,  the  mother  holding  a  tiny  infant,  and  two 
little  girls.  It  is  a  beautiful  picture  of  home  in  its 
quiet,  peaceful  happiness,  with  no  thought  of  the 
dangers  or  griefs  which  may  be  lurking  just  without. 
Into  the  garden  comes  a  Stranger  and  an  old  man,  a 
friend  of  the  family,  who  has  hastened  to  break  the 
sad  intelligence  that  one  of  the  daughters  has  just 
been  discovered  drowned  in  the  river  which  she  was 
crossing  on  the  way  to  spend  the  night  at  her  grand- 
mother's. They  hesitate  and  discuss  how  best  to 
break  the  sad  intelligence.  Suddenly  Mary  comes  in 
and  tells  her  grandfather  that  he  must  hurry,  for  the 
villagers  are  approaching  with  the  body.  She  sees 
the  picture  at  the  happy  hearth,  and  begs  her  grand- 
father not  to  tell  them  at  all  that  night,  to  wait  until 
the  daylight.  Martha  enters  and  says  that  the  bear- 
ers are  at  hand,  and  that  the  news  must  be  broken  at 
once.  The  two  sisters,  Mary  and  Martha,  sit  on  a 
bench,  their  backs  to  the  window,  and  the  grandfath- 
er passes  around  to  the  door  of  the  house.  The  crowd 
presses  into  the  garden,  curious  to  see  how  the  little 
family  will  bear  the  news  when  it  bursts  upon  them. 
The  grandfather  is  seen  entering  the  room,  is  pressed 
into  his  customary  chair,  hesitates,  makes  an  effort, 
fails  to  tell  the  news.  Suddenly  the  mother  seems  to 
realize,  leaps  up  and  rushes  toward  the  front  door, 
the  father  striving  to  prevent.  But  she  pushes  him 
aside,  opens  the  doors,  and  the  entire  family  exit  in- 
to the  night,  leaving  the  baby  asleep  in  the  arm-chair. 
The  crowd  in  the  garden  rush  eagerly  around  the 


h 


i: 


200  The  Psychology  of  Maeterlinck 

house  to  sec  the  tragic  scene,  leaving  alone  in  the  gar- 
den Mary  and  Martha,  sobbing,  and  the  Stranger 
who  quietly  comments,  "The  child  has  not  waked," 
and  then  he,  too,  departs  to  join  the  mob  at  the  front 
of  the  house. 


(  , 


THE  DEATH  OF  TINTAGILES 
Drama  in  Five  Jets  atid  Five  Scenes 

Ascribed  to  Year  1894 

Cast 

Tintagiles 

Ygraine,  Sister  of  Tintagiles 

Bellangere,  Another  Sister 

Aglovale 

Three  Maid-Servants  of  the  Queen 

Place  :—An  old  Castle  on  an  Island. 

This  is  one  of  the  most  pathetic  of  all  of  Maeter- 
linck's touching  plays.  Altho  he  claims  that  it  was 
not  written  to  be  acted,  it  was  successfully  produced 
in  London  some  years  ago  at  a  trial  matinee,  and 
made  a  profound  impression.  More  recently  it  has 
been  given  in  the  Marionette  Theatre  at  Munich, 
Germany. 

Tintagiles  is  a  sunny-haired  little  boy  who  has 
long  been  away  from  his  devoted  sisters,  Ygraine  and 
Bellangere,  who  reside  on  an  Island,  where  is  a 
mighty  stone  tower  approached  by  many  steps  and 
corridors,  in  the  topmast  chambers  of  which  lives  a 
dreadful  Queen  to  whom  all  must  pay  homage,  and 
who  has  never  been  seen  by  mortals.  For  some 
strange  reason  Tintagiles  is  sent  to  his  sisters  on  this 
Island. 

201 


202 


The  Psychology  of  Maeterlinck 


I    ! 


I'l    * 


i: 


In  Act  Two  we  find  the  child  sleeping  peacefully 
unmindful  of  the  danger  which  besets  him,  whilst  at 
his  bedside  his  sisters  are  seated  discussing  what 
can  be  done  to  foil  the  designing  Queen  whose  pur- 
port they  feel  sui  ^  is  to  kill  the  little  brother.  They 
admit  that  she  is  deaf  to  pleas,  and  that  her  subjects, 
whilst  accusing  her  as  unjust  and  cruel,  will  melt  at 
her  sight  and  passively  submit  to  her  will;  one  sister 
suggests  that  possibly  tears  and  supplications  may 
win  her  and  induce  her  to  leave  to  them  their  little 
brother. 

In  Act  Three  they  are  still  watching,  having  ex- 
amined and  made  fast  the  doors.  Aglovale,  an  el- 
derly male  retainer  has  taken  down  his  rusty  sword, 
and  is  examining  it  and  meditating  upon  its  possible 
usefulness.  Suddenly  the  enemy  is  heard  at  one 
of  the  doors,  and,  as  it  slowly  parts,  Aglovale  thrusts 
into  the  seam  his  sword  which  snaps  and  falls  use- 
less. The  sisters  add  their  strength  and  all  three 
strive  to  push  the  door  closed,  but  it  continues  to 
open,  and,  to  their  astonishment,  no  one  is  visible 
in  the  aperture.  Suddenly  the  door  closes  abruptly. 
They  listen  to  hear  if  any  one  is  prowling  without, 
and,  hearing  no  one,  turn  and  with  glad,  happy  tears 
kiss  Tintagiles. 

Act  Four  is  the  corridor  just  without  the  bedroom. 
Three  handmaids  of  this  terrible  Queen  are  discov- 
ered listening  at  the  door.  One  proclaims  that  the 
watchers  are  sleeping,  and  enters  to  slay  the  child, 
but  returns  with  the  information  that  Tintagiles  is 
sleeping  between  his  sisters,  his  little  hands  clutch- 
ing their  hair,  and  that  the  others  must  come  and 
help  her  release  him  from  their  clasp.     All  three 


The  Death  of  Tintagiles 


203 


enter  the  room,  and  a  moment  later  reappear  with 
one  of  them  carrying  the  child,  who  still  grasps 
bunches  of  his  sister's  hair.  They  flee  down  the  cor- 
ridor with  Tintagiles  shrieking  in  terror.  The  two 
sisters  rush  forth  in  anguish  and  horror.  Ygraine, 
the  more  impetuous,  starts  pursuit  down  the  corri- 
dors where  the  child's  screams  still  resound;  the 
weaker  sister  succumbs  to  her  fright  and  faints  upon 
the  steps  leading  from  the  chamber. 

Act  Five  is  at  the  end  of  the  corridor  at  the  very 
top  of  the  old  tower.  On  one  side  is  the  faithful 
Ygraine  beating  violently  upon  a  great  iron  door 
which  shuts  her  out  from  Tintagiles,  a  lock  of  whose 
yellow  hair  is  waving,  caught  in  the  doorjamb.  The 
child  protests  that  he  can  see  his  sister,  altho  she 
can't  see  him  because  of  the  darkness  on  his  side  of 
the  door,  and  urges  her  to  hurry  and  let  him  out, 
for  he  can  hear  the  wicked  Queen  approaching.  In 
one  final,  frantic  effort,  Ygraine  strikes  the  door  with 
her  fragile  lamp  of  clay,  and  in  that  Instant,  in  the 
darkness  which  ensues,  the  old  Queen  approaches  her 
victim,  places  her  cruel  fingers  upon  his  tiny  neck, 
and  his  little  life  is  snuffed  out,  whilst  poor  Ygraine 
screams  and  cries,  and  pounds  upon  the  iron  door 
which  has  forever  separated  her  from  her  darling 
brother,  the  fair-haired  Tintagiles! 


I  -. 


AGLAVAINE  AND  SELYSETTE 

Drama  in  Five  Acts  and  Sixteen  Scenes 

Ascribed  to  Year  1896 

Cast 

Meleander 

Aglavaine 

Selysette 

Meligrane  (Selysette's  Grandmother) 

Little  Yssaline  (Selysette's  Sister) 

Scene:— An  old  Castle  on  an  Island. 

Act  One  is  laid  in  the  Castle  of  Meleander,  the 
husband  of  Selysette.  The  old  Grandmother,  Meli- 
grane, who  is  partially  paralyzed,  sleeps  in  a  chair. 
Meleander  is  reading  to  Selysette  a  letter  just  received 
from  Aglavaine,  who  writes  to  announce  her  accept- 
ance of  his  kind  invitation  to  make  her  home  with 
him  and  his  wife,  and  that  she  will  arrive  soon  after 
the  letter.  We  are  informed  that  she  is  Meleander's 
sister-in-law,  the  widow  of  Selysette's  brother,  and 
that  Meleander  and  she  had  met  but  once,  at  the 
wedding.  They  were  drawn  to  each  other  from  the 
first,  and  have  kept  up  a  correspondence  ever  since, 
with  the  knowledge  of  Selysette,  altho  she  has  not 
been  sufficiently  interested  in  the  affair  to  trouble  her- 
self to  read  any  of  the  letters  passing  between  her 
husband  and  Aglavaine.     On  the  estate  is  a  Castle, 

204 


Aglavaine  and  Selysetle 


205 


old  and  crumbled,  whose  top  is  a  favorite  resort  for 
Selysette,  but,  unfortunately,  she  lost  the  key,  much 
to  the  joy  of  her  husband,  as  he  regarded  it  a  dan- 
gerous place.    However,  a  new  one  of  gold  has  been 
ordered,  and  Selysette's  little  sister,  Yssaline,  now 
comes  into  the  room  carrying  the  bright  new  key. 
Suddenly  Aglavaine  is  announced,  and  enters  radiant 
in  her  traveling-dress.    She  kisses  Selysette,  then  she 
goes  to  Meleander  and  kisses  him,  and  then  turns  to 
kiss  Grandmother,  but  she  protests  that  she  is  para- 
lysed, and  that  it  hurts  her  to  be  touched  by  any  one 
except  Selysette.    Aglavaine  says  that  she  will  learn 
to  assist  Grandmother  without  hurting  her.     Agla- 
vaine listens  to  the  description  of  the  crumbling  old 
Tower,  and  the  making  of  the  new  key  to  take  the 
place  of  the  lost  one,  and  promises  that  they  will  visit 
it  together  tomorrow.    Then  she  kisses  the  husband 
and  his  youthful  wife,  and  all  separate  for  the  night. 
Act  Two,  S(        One,  is  in  the  Park  of  the  Castle. 
Aglavaine  and  i   eleander  are  walking  and  talking 
about  the  joy  of  being  together,  altho  they  ..  '^hat 

it  is  a  dangerous  joy,  and  that  it  may  make  Sei^  - 
unhappy  as  she  can't  understand  their  platonic  af- 
fection, and  their  mutual  affection  for  her.  Sud- 
denly, Selysette  discovers  them  kissing,  and  utters  a 
sharp  cry  of  pain.  Meleander,  quickened,  rushes  af- 
ter her  to  explain  all.  Scene  Two  is  in  the  Park,  but 
at  another  spot.  Aglavame  has  fallen  asleep  on  a 
marble  bench.  Selysette  comes  in,  petted  because  of 
the  words  they  use  when  talking  about  her,  and  be- 
cause they  treat  her  as  a  child,  and  pity  her.  She 
suspects  that  Meleander  has  ceased  to  love  her.  She 
espies  Aglavaine  sleeping  at  the  brink  of  the  exceed- 


\ 


*>J 


2()6 


The  Psychology  of  Maeterlinck 


I   1 


I 


ingly  deep  well,  and  saturated  with  rain  which  hasi 
been  tailing,  i  enderly  she  covers  her  with  her  own 
cluak  and  veil,  and  then  awakens  her  lest  she  should 
turn  and  tall  into  the  waters.  Quite  naturally  the 
women  begin  to  talk  of  him  who  is  in  both  of  their 
hearts,  and  Aglavaine  strives  to  make  Selysette  un- 
derstand the  nature  of  love,  and  of  the  particular 
sort  of  love  which  she  has  for  Meleander,  and  of 
the  character  that  he  has  for  her.  Selysette  seems  to 
understand,  and,  instead  of  allowing  Aglavaine  to 
make  an  agreement  never  again  to  kiss  Meleander, 
says  that  she  may  kiss  him  whenever  she  likes, — even 
when  she  is  not  present  to  witness!  Mutual  under- 
standing seems  to  come  upon  both  women,  and  hap- 
pily they  arise,  their  arms  entwined,  and  hasten  to 
find  Meleander.  Scene  Three  discovers  Selys*"*  ■ 
talking  to  her  Grandmother,  Meligrane,  who  accuse 
her  of  sadness,  and  would  comfort  her  by  offering  a 
solution  that  one  of  the  women  must  either  die  or 
leave  the  Castle.  Aglavaine,  who  has  entered  to  hear 
this  sage  advice,  says  that  Grandma  is  right,  that 
Meleander  does  love  Selysette,  truly,  and  that  she 
herself  will  never  again  kiss  him,  and  sends  Selysette 
to  her  husband. 

Act  Three  discovers  Selysette  as  she  finds  Melean- 
der in  the  Park.  She  is  telling  him  that  Aglavaine  is 
going  to  leave  them,  but  asks  him  if  it  wouldn't  be  bet- 
ter if  she  herself  went  instead.  He  is  astonished  that 
either  woman  should  feel  it  necessary  to  leave  him. 
Then  they  go  together  to  seek  Aglavaine  and  see 
whether  she  is  sobbing  in  her  sleep.  Scene  Two  is  a 
room  in  the  Castle.  Meleander  and  Aglavaine  are 
talking,  and  wondering  whither  Selysette  has  gone. 


/iglavaine  and  Selysette 


ao7 


A.'^lavaine  tells  him  that  she  sees  now  that  the  wife 
is  jealous,  and  so  she  will  depart.  Meleander  pro- 
test that  his  love  has  outgrown  Selysette.  Aglavaine 
is  pained,  and  says  that  she  did  not  realize  that  some 
things  were  so  impossible,  or  she  would  never  have 
come  here  to  reside.  She  declares  that  she  has  come 
to  love  Meleander,  and  that  for  that  very  reason  she 
must  go  away  and  leave  him  to  be  true  to  Selysette. 
Scene  Three  is  at  the  foot  of  the  great  Tower,  and 
hither  have  come  Meleander  and  Aglavaine  seeking 
Selysette.  Her  voice  is  heard  from  above  as  she 
comes  down  the  winding-stair,  and  then  she  enters. 
She  is  radiantly  beautiful  because  a  beautiful  thought 
has  come  to  her  at  the  top  of  the  Tower.  But  the 
thought  is  her  secret,  altho  she  says  that  soon  they 
both  will  love  her  more  than  ever  before.  Melean- 
der leaves,  and  the  two  women  sit  down  for  a  last 
farewell  chat.  At  the  end,  in  mutual  understanding 
and  fulness  of  love,  they  rapturously  embrace. 

Act  Four,  Scene  One,  is  a  terrace  raised  above  t\\c, 
sea,  which  is  uneasily  heaving  in  the  morning's  sun- 
shine. Aglavaine  is  going,  but  Selysette  protests 
that  she  remain  awhile  longer.  Aglavaine  tells  her 
that  it  is  hazardous  to  lean  so  far  over  the  crumbling 
parapet  of  the  Tower  for  it  might  give  way  and  cause 
her  to  fall.  Selysette  laughs  and  says.  No,  and  that 
there  is  a  strange  green  bird  which  has  recently  made- 
its  appearance,  and  plays  often  about  her  head,  and 
has  made  its  nest  in  the  crannies  of  the  rock.  Agla- 
vaine is  suspicious,  and  asks  for  the  golden  key. 
Selysette  gives  it  to  her,  and  continues  on  her  way  to 
greet  Meleander.  Aglavaine  says  meaningly,  "Good- 
bye, Selysette;"    then  she  tosses  the  golden  key  of 


208 


The  Psychology  of  Maeterlinck 


{•; 


the  Tower  into  the  midst  of  the  sea.  Scene  Two  is  a 
room  in  the  Castle.  Grandma  sleeps,  and  Selysette 
is  conducting  her  little  sister,  Yssaline,  to  the  Tower 
where  she  has  promised  her  a  sight  of  the  green 
bird.  They  kiss  Grandma  who  awakens.  Selysette 
tells  her  that  they  are  going  farther  than  usual,  but 
that  Aglavaine  will  care  for  her  when  she  is  gone. 
They  exit  hurriedly.  Scene  Three  is  in  the  corridor, 
and  Meleander  meets  them  and  is  solicitous  as  to 
whither  they  are  hastening,  but  Selysette  makes  eva- 
sive reply,  bids  him  Farewell,  and  she  and  Yssaline 
pursue  their  interrupted  way.  Scene  Four  is  at  the 
Top  of  the  Tower.  Selysette  is  gazing  in  all  direc- 
tions and  the  beauty  of  nature  raises  an  intense  feel- 
ing of  realization  of  the  beauty  of  life,  and  how  hard 
is  the  parting  when  we  feel  that  it  has  come.  Invol- 
untary tears  flow  down  her  cheeks.  Then  she  won- 
ders whether  she  said  Farewell  to  Grandma,  whether 
she  was  as  tender  at  parting  as  she  might  have  been, 
and  filled  with  solicitude  lest  she  should  pass  from 
this  sphere  leaving  aught  but  the  fondest  memories, 
rushes  down  to  again  see  Grandma.  Scene  Five  is  in 
Grandma's  room.  As  the  Sisters  enter  the  old  lady 
awakens,  and  Selysette  begins  inquiry  as  to  whether 
she  was  gentle  to  her,  and  kind.  Again  Selysette 
commends  her  to  Aglavaine,  and  runs  away,  the  old 
lady  striving  to  arise  and  prevent  her  abrupt  depar- 
ture. Scene  Six  is  in  the  corridor  again.  Seeing 
Aglavaine  approaching,  Selysette  and  Yssaline  hide 
in  hopes  that  she  may  pass  them  unobscrving.  Agla- 
vaine intercepts  them  and  reproves  that  intent,  kisses 
Selysette  tenderly.  Then  Selysette  bids  her  adieu, 
and  recommends  that  she  continue  looking  for  Me- 


Aglavaine  and  Selysette 


209 


leander.  Leading  little  Yssaline  she  exits  with  a 
burst  of  song  upon  her  lips.  Scene  Seven  is  again  at 
the  top  of  the  Tower,  and  Selysette  speaks  of  some 
flowers  in  the  crevices  beneath  the  parapet  which  she 
promises  to  get  for  Yssaline,  but  she  keeps  repeating 
that  it  is  hazardous,  and  that  a  slip  might  prove  fatal, 
that  the  stones  are  aged,  the  mortar  dried,  and  that 
if  a  rock  should  loosen  from  its  place, — it  would  all 
be  an  accident.  Nevertheless,  as  the  twilight  in- 
creases, and  just  before  the  stars  shine  forth  to  take 
away  her  burst  of  courage,  Selysette  reaches  for  the 
flowers,  and  the  inevitable  happens,  a  stone  moves, 
her  foot  slips,  she  pitches  head  foremost  from  the 
top,  and  leaves  alone  poor  little  sister,  crying  in  ter- 
ror. 

Act  Five  is  the  corridor  igain.  Aglavaine  and 
Meleander  enter.  He  has  questioned  and  questioned 
Selysette  as  to  the  reasons  for  her  fall,  but  she  per- 
sists to  her  story  told  to  Yssaline  before  the  fatal 
plunge.  Aglavaine  is  not  convinced,  and  the  two  en- 
ter the  bedchamber  to  try  and  discc  /er  the  truth. 
Scene  Two  is  in  Selysette's  room;  her  broken  body 
lies  upon  the  bed.  Selysette  opens  her  eyes  and  smiles 
a  faint  smile  of  greeting  as  the  couple  enter.  She  ob- 
serves the  tears  coursing  down  their  cheeks,  and  is  so- 
licitous lest  she  has  made  them  both  unhappy.  Agla- 
vaine begins  to  blame  herself,  but  Selysette  stops  her, 
vows  that  she  is  telling  the  truth,  that  the  fall  was 
accidental,  purely  accidental,  and  that  no  matter  what 
she  may  say  when  swept  by  agony,  not  to  believe  it, — 
it  was  an  accident.  Aglavaine  keeps  protesting  that 
it  was  not;  that  it  was  because  she  sought  to  leave 
her  alone  with  Meleander.     Selysette  for  a  moment 


I 


i' 


2IO  The  Psychology  of  Maeterlinck 

thinks  that  she  is  about  to  tell  the  facts,  but  she  sup- 
presses them,  and  with  the  fabrication  upon  her  lips 
dies,  and,  as  the  weak  little  flame  extinguishes,  the 
man  and  the  woman  fall  weeping  at  her  bedside,  and, 
as  Aglavaine  says  in  the  final  scene,  "I  shall  never 
be  happy  again!" 


SISTER  BEATRICE 


Poetical  Drama  in  Three  Acts  and  Three  Scenes 

Ascribed  to  Year  1901 

Cast 

The  Holy  Virgin  (in  the  likeness  of  Sister  Beatrice) 

Sister  Beatrice 

The  Abbess 

Sister  Eglantine 

Sister  Clemency 

Sister  Felicity 

Sister  Balbine 

Sister  Regina 

Sister  Gisela 

The  Priest 

Prince  Bellidor 

Little  Allette 

Beggars,  Pilgrims,  etc. 

Time:— The  Thirteenth  Century. 

Place:— A  Convent  in  the  neighborhood  of  Lou- 
vain. 

(Sister  Beatrice  was  presented  at  the  New  Thea- 
tre, New  York  City,  March,  1910,  with  Miss  Edith 
Wynne  Matthison  as  Beatrice.  Incidental  music  was 
composed  by  Mr.  Max  Marschaick  and  was  of  deli- 
cate beauty  in  exqu'"ite  rapport  with  this  aesthetic 
conception. ) 

It  is  said  that  this  play  was  written  for  Mme.  Sara 
Bernhardt,  but,  altho  she  obtained  permission  to  give 

211 


212  The  Psychology  of  Maeterlinck 


I    I 


v'.' 


it  in  French  in  the  United  States  during  her  tour  in 
19 lo,  it  was  first  made  known  to  this  country  by  the 
New  Theatre  with  Miss  Edith  Wynne  Matthison  in 
the  title  role. 

The  scene  is  a  corridor  in  a  Convent  near  Louvain. 
On  one  side  of  the  great  doors  which  lead  into  the 
world,  is  a  statue  of  the  Blessed  Virgin,  in  face  like 
to  Sister  Beatrice  who  is  praying  at  the  foot  of  the 
statue.  Her  prayer  is  interrupted  by  the  arrival  of 
horsemen,  and  a  knocking  at  the  doors.  Sister  Bea- 
trice opens  the  doors  to  admit  her  cavalier,  the  re- 
splendent Bellidor,  who  has  come  to  carry  her  away 
as  his  bride.  She  hesitates,  but  he  arrays  her  in  glori- 
ous robes  of  royal  splendor.  She  lingers,  undecided; 
the  bell  tolls  three,  and,  with  a  shudder.  Sister  Bea- 
trice lays  her  robes  c  "  ooverty  and  her  veil  before 
the  image  of  the  Virgin,  and  departs  with  Prince 
Bellidor. 

As  the  curtain  rises  on  Act  Two,  the  last  strokes  of 
the  Matin  Bell  are  pealing.  Slowly  the  statue  of  the 
Virgin  begins  to  awaken,  and  then  slowly  descends 
the  steps,  singing  a  heavenly  hymn,  arrays  herself  in 
the  robes  of  Sister  Beatrice,  throws  open  the  great 
doors  admitting  a  poor  little  waif  who  is  astonished 
at  seeing  her,  and  tells  her  of  hearing  horses  in  the 
night,  and  that  it  was  whispered  in  the  Village  that 
Sister  Beatrice  had  flown  from  the  Convent.  During 
this  recital  others  approach,  the  poor,  the  halt,  the 
maimed,  and  Sister  Beatrice  (the  Virgin)  distributes 
to  them  clothing  from  a  basket  which  keeps  miracu- 
lously filling.  The  bell  tolls  again,  warning  of  the 
approach  of  the  Nuns.  The  Virgin  dismisses  the 
praying  crowd  and  closes  the  doors,  just  as  the  Ab- 


Sister  Beatrice 


213 


bess  enters  followed  in  solemn  procession  by  the 
household.  The  Abbess  reproaches  Sister  Beatrice 
for  tardiness  in  sounding  the  Matin  Bell,  which  the 
Sister  acknowledges  in  silence,  and  meekly  submits 
to  the  discipline  commanded  as  a  penance.  The  pro- 
cession resumes  its  march  toward  the  chapel.  As 
the  Abbess  reaches  the  image  of  the  Virgin,  she  is  as- 
tounded to  find  the  niche  vacant,  the  statue  gonel 
They  accuse  Sister  Beatrice  of  being  accessory  to  the 
theft,  as  she  it  was  whose  duty  was  to  guard  the  im- 
age. Silence  is  the  only  reply.  The  Abbess  feels  of 
Beatrice's  garments,  and  in  horror  discovers  that  she 
is  wearing  those  which  had  bedecked  the  image  of 
the  Virgin.  At  this  moment  the  Priest  appears  in  the 
doorway  of  the  chapel,  and  he  orders  that  the  gor- 
geous vestments  shall  be  stripped  off  and  Sister  Bea- 
trice beaten  before  the  altar.  She  is  dragged  within, 
the  Priest  remaining  without  in  prayer.  Suddenly 
the  Canticle  of  the  Virgin  rises  in  mighty,  swelling 
tones  from  the  Chapel,  the  doors  burst  open,  and 
the  Nuns  surge  forth  swaying  branches  of  blossoms 
and  amidst  a  swirling  of  petals  which  retard  their 
progress.  They  proclaim  that  a  miracle  has  been 
performed  and  that  Sister  Beatrice  is  innocent.  As 
their  story  fails.  Sister  Beatrice  herself,  meekly  clad, 
comes  from  the  Chapel,  crosses  to  the  great  doors, 
admits  three  old  beggars,  and  with  holy  water,  from 
the  font  before  the  empty  niche  of  the  Virgin,  sprin- 
kles and  blesses  them. 

Act  Three  is  some  twenty  years  later,  night.  On 
the  pedestal  stands  the  statue  of  the  Virgin  as  at  first. 
It  is  winter.  As  the  last  stroke  of  the  Matin  Bell 
dies  away,  the  great  doors  slowly  part,  and  Sister 


'S        ► 


1      1  ' 

;               t 

,1 

;  ,■' 

214  The  Psychology  of  Maeterlinck 

Beatrice,  ragged,  cold,  shrivelled  and  withered, 
creeps  timidly  in,  and  throws  herself  with  a  flood  of 
penitential  tears,  before  the  altar  of  the  Virgin.  As 
she  prays,  confessing  her  sins,  and  remorseful  be- 
cause of  the  life  which  she  has  lead  since  she  left  the 
Convent,  her  eyes  see  her  own  old  garments  resting 
on  the  rail  before  her.  Timidly,  to  cover  her  naked- 
ness, she  picks  them  up  and  puts  them  on,  and  then 
falls  fainting  as  the  bell  again  tolls,  and  the  proces- 
sion of  Nuns  enters  headed  by  the  Abbess,  who  is 
now  bent  with  age,  and  walks  feebly.  They  rush  to 
Sister  Beatrice,  and  raise  her  head.  The  Abbess  sud- 
denly discovers  that  the  image  of  the  Virgin  has  re- 
turned to  its  pedestal,  and  all  exclaim  over  the  mira- 
cle. Sister  Beatrice  is  tenderly  laid  on  clean  linen 
sheets,  and  a  pillow  is  placed  beneath  her  head.  She 
begins  to  tell  the  story  of  her  life  in  the  world  and  to 
protest  against  such  tender  treatment,  but  all  believe 
that  she  is  delirious,  and  refuse  to  listen,  for  they 
know  the  good  life  which  she  has  led  in  their  midst. 
At  last,  exhausted.  Sister  Beatrice  lapses  into  silence, 
and,  as  her  eyes  close,  the  Nuns  sink  to  their  knees  in 
prayer. 


^.« '      I 


ARDIANE  AND  BLUE  BEARD 


»     The  Imprisoned  Wives 


Operatic  Libretto  in  Three  Acts  and  Three  Scenes 

Ascribed  to  Year  1901 

Cast 

Ardiane 

S^lysette 

Melisande 

Ygraine 

Bellangere 

Alladine      J 

A  Nurse  (Foster-Mother  to  Ardiane) 

Blue  Beard 

Servants,  Peasants,  Crowd 

Scene: — An  ancient  Castle. 

Blue  Beard  (or  Barbe  Bleue)  is,  like  the  fairy- 
tale with  which  all  are  familiar,  a  man  of  much-mar- 
rying, and  with  the  same  rapacity  for  the  suppres- 
sion of  his  wives,  altho,  from  a  certain  point  of  view, 
a  trifle  more  humane,  as  this  man  only  incarcerates 
them  in  a  deep,  cold  dungeon  to  drag  out  a  miserable 
existence. 

The  stage  represents  a  glorious  hallway  of  Blue 
Beard's  Castle.  In  the  center  is  an  arch  with  double 
doors,  and  on  either  side  of  this  central  door  are 
three  smaller  doors,  with  balconies  and  Gothic  win- 
dows above.    As  the  curtain  rises,  voices  of  peasants 

215 


2i6  The  Psychology  of  Maeterlinck 


I    ! 


{' 


are  heard  protesting  against  the  reception  of  another, 
a  sixth  wife.  In  a  moment  Ardiane  enters  accom- 
panied by  her  faithful  Nurse.  In  her  hands  she  car- 
ries a  bunch  of  keys,  and  repeats  the  instructions  giv- 
en her  by  Blue  Beard,  to  open  the  chests  and  array 
herself  in  what  raiment  she  would.  The  Nurse  is 
anxious  to  examine  everything,  but  Ardiane  says  that 
she  wishes  to  open  only  the  one  door  which  has  been 
forbidden  her.  The  Nurse,  however,  unlocks  the 
first  door,  and  is  greeted  with  a  shower  of  gems  and 
jewels,  amethysts  beings  particularly  plentiful.  They 
hasten  to  the  second  door,  and  this  opens  showering 
them  with  sapphires.  The  opening  of  the  third  door 
brings  a  rain  of  pearls,  the  fourth  emeralds,  the  fifth 
rubies,  and  the  last  diamonds.  The  Nurse  would 
take  what  she  could  and  flee,  but  Ardiane  insists  up- 
on unlocking  the  one  remaining  door,  the  center.  As 
it  rolls  open,  nothing  is  disclosed  but  a  cavern  of  inky 
darkness,  tho  far  away  is  heard  the  voice  of  plaintive 
singing.  In  terror  the  Nurse  urges  her  to  close  the 
doors.  She  and  Ard".  ne  strive  to  shut  all  the  doors, 
but  in  vain,  and  on  iheir  wild  efforts  enters  Blue 
B(,ard  himself,  who  repioaches  her  for  insisting  up- 
on doing  the  one  thing  which  he  had  forbade,  and 
tells  her  how  long  each  of  her  predecessors  had  fore- 
gone curiosity,  but  that  none  had  succumbed  imme- 
diately upon  entering  the  Castle.  He  ends  by  drag- 
ging the  hapless  Ardiane  toward  the  door  of  the  hol- 
low darkness.  The  peasants  are  heard  storming  at 
the  gates,  and  the  Nurse  runs  to  admit  them.  The 
doors  are  burst  and  the  mob  pours  in.  Blue  Beard 
draws  his  sword  to  withstand  them,  but  Ardiane 
steps  between  and  silences  the  mob,  declaring  "He 


Ardiane  and  Blue  Beard 


217 


has  not  done  me  any  ill." 

Act  Two  discloses  the  subterranean  chamber  where 
are  the  predecessors  of  Ardiane  huddled  in  a  misera- 
ble group.  Slowly  comes  the  courageous  one  down 
the  staircase,  her  faithful  Nurse  tottering  after.  She 
advances  boldly  with  her  lamp,  seeks  the  terrified 
women,  consoles  them,  and  begins  looking  for  a 
means  of  escape,  ending  by  discovering  a  ray  of  light, 
then  some  doors,  and  at  length  she  forces  them  open, 
admitting  the  glorious  light  of  day,  and  courageously 
steps  forth  unto  the  outside  of  the  Castle,  leading 
after  her  the  rive  trembling  women. 

Act  Three  discloses  the  interior  of  the  Castle  as  at 
rirst.  Blue  Beard  has  been  away,  and  all  are  fear- 
fully  awaiting  his  return,  and  are  engaged  in  bedeck- 
ing themselves  in  the  choicest  apparel  and  jewels.  But 
Ardiane  shows  them  that  it  is  not  this  adornment 
that  Blue  Beard  craves,  but  the  beauty  of  their  own 
fair  selves,  and  arranges  their  draperies  to  display 
their  charms  to  greater  advantage.  Suddenly  Blue 
Beard,  wounded,  enters  the  Hall.  He  has  been  set 
upon  by  the  indignant  peasants,  and  has  taken  refuge 
within  his  stronghold.  The  peasants  crowd  through 
the  portals.  The  iive  women  cower  in  a  corner  at 
the  far  end  of  the  Hall,  but  the  fearless  Ardiane 
steps  forward,  dimisses  the  peasants  with  thanks  for 
bringing  to  her  Blue  Beard  in  this  bound,  pitiable 
condition,  and  closes  the  doors  shutting  them  out. 
The  v'omen  gather  about  him  in  sympathy  and  bind 
his  wounds,  severing  the  thongs  which  confine  his 
limbs.  As  he  recovers  Ardiane  kisses  him  in  fare- 
well, and  starts  for  the  door.  The  women  rush  to 
her  imploringly.     She  pauses,  invites  them  to  join 


•1.  ■  » 


r'.'i         I 


218 


The  Psyuhi,iuj^y  o)  Maeterlinck 


I   I 
I   '1 


her  in  her  departure,  but  one  by  one  they  decline,  and 
turn  with  loving  ministrations  to  Blue  Beard,  whilst 
their  deliverer,  the  fearless  Ardiane,  accompanied 
by  her  Nurse,  departs  into  the  world  whence  she  had 
come,  leaving  the  wives  to  atone  by  faithfulness  for 
their  lack  of  trust. 


MONNA  VANNA 


Drama  in  Three  Acts  and  Three  Scenes 

Ascribed  to  Year  1902 

Cast 

Guido  Colonna,  Commander  of  the  Garrison  at  Pisa 

Marco  Colonna,  Guido's  Father 

Prinzivalle,  General  in  the  Pay  of  Florence 

Trivulzio,  Commissioner  of  the  Florentine  Republic 

Torello,  Guido's  Lieutenant 

Borso,  Another  Lieutenant 

Vedio,  Secretary  to  Prinzivalle 

Giovanna  (Monna  Vanna),  Guido's  Wife. 

Period: — The  end  of  the  Fifteenth  Century. 

Place:— In  and  around  Pisa. 

{Monna  Vanna  was  presented  at  the  Manhattan 
Theatre,  New  York  City,  October  23,  1905,  with 
Mme.  Bertha  Kalich  as  Monna  Vanna.) 

Act  One  is  laid  in  the  Palace  of  Guido  Colonna  at 
Fisa.  The  Town  has  been  besieged  by  the  troops  of 
Florence  for  a  long  time,  and  now  is  reduced  to  point 
of  surrender.  Guido  has  sent  his  aged  father  to  the 
General  of  the  besiegers  to  ask  terms  of  surrender. 
The  Father  returns,  and,  after  some  preamble,  tells 
him  that  Prinzivalle,  the  other  General,  is  a  fine  fel- 
low, educated,  noble,  but  will  make  only  one  condi- 

219 


220  The  Psychology  of  Maeterlinck 


h  ( 


K'-       . 


tion,  i.  e.,— that  Monna  Vanna,  the  wife  of  Guido, 
shall  make  sacrifice  of  her  virtue  to  him,  and  in  re- 
turn Prinzivalle  will  send  the  Pisans  supplies  and 
ammunition  to  withstand  further  attack.  Guido  is 
angry,  but  Monna  Vanna  entering  takes  the  situation 
into  her  own  hands  and  says  that  she  will  go. 

Act  Two  is  laid  in  Prinzivalle's  tent  without  the 
walls.  Monna  N'anna  comes  to  him.  He  has  been 
wounded  by  a  traitor  who  is  striving  to  betray  him 
to  the  Florentines,  so  she  does  not  recognize  him  at 
once.  But  in  rebinding  the  wound,  she  recalls  his 
features.  As  a  boy  he  had  come  to  her  home  with 
his  father,  and  they  had  played  together  once,  and 
from  that  hour  he  had  longed  for  her.  However,  he 
was  poor,  and  whilst  he  was  in  Africa  seeking  a  for- 
tune, she  had  married.  And  now  Prinzivalle  had 
taken  this  one  desperate  measure  for  seeing  and  talk- 
mg  with  her  again.  He  sends  the  supply-train  to 
Pisa,  and  they  sit  and  talk  the  long  night  through. 
She  learns  that  Prinzivalle  has  played  a  losing  stake 
and  that  his  head  is  the  forfeit,  so  she  insists  upon 
bringing  him  back  with  her  to  Pisa. 

Act  Ihree  finds  Guido  awaiting  Monna  Vanna's 
return.  He  is  vowing  death  to  Prinzivalle.  Sud- 
denly Monna  Vanna  and  Prinzivalle  appear  in  the 
distance  and  approach  through  the  crowd.  Guido  is 
beside  himself  with  jealousy.  He  orders  all  out 
whilst  he  meets  his  wife  alone.  He  learns  the  identity 
of  her  companion  and  would  slay  him,  but  she  pre- 
vents. She  explains  his  goodness,  her  own  purity, 
but  Guido  will  not  believe.  He  insists  that  it  is  not 
true.  Finally,  in  desperation,  she  swears  that  she  has 
lied  and  that  to  her  alone  shall  be  committed  the 


Monna  Vanna 


221 


1 


punishment  of  her  dishonor.  Prinzivallc  is  led  away, 
Monna  whispering  that  she  will  save  him.  She  faints 
in  the  arms  of  her  Father  who  alone  recognizes  thnt 
she  told  the  truth  at  first,  and  now  is  only  endeavor- 
ing to  save  the  better  man.  S!ie  cautions  her  father 
to  look  to  Prinzivalle's  welfare,  and  faints.  Guide 
takes  her  in  his  arms,  and  as  she  opens  her  eyes  pro- 
tests to  her,  "It  was  all  a  bad  dream."  But  she  in- 
sists that  it  is  real,  and  for  him  to  give  he*  the  keys 
to  Prinzivalle's  prison  so  that  she  may  torture  him. 
As  Guido  surrenders  to  her  desire,  she  exclaims,  "It 
has  been  a  bad  dream — but  the  beautiful  one  will  be- 

The  unusual  feature  of  this  play  is  that  it  is  a 
modern  play  laid  in  a  Fifteenth  Century  environ- 
ment, and  is  given  a  typically  Twentieth  Century  so- 
lution ! 


r: 


r'- 


JOYZELLE 

Drama  in  Five  Acts  and  Seven  Scenes 

Ascribed  to  Year  1903 

Cast 

Merlin 

Lanceor,  Merlin's  Son 
Joyzelle 

Arielle,   Merlin's  Self    (Genius)  ;   rarely  visible  to 
Others 
Scene:— An  Ancient  Castle  on  an  Island  owned  by 
Merlin. 

On  an  Island  lives  a  lonely  man  passed  middle 
age,  Merlin,  by  name.  For  some  unexplained  rea- 
son he  has  lived  alone  for  many  years,  communing 
only  with  his  Self,  Arielle,  his  Genius,  but,  strangely 
enough,  of  the  opposite  sex ! 

The  setting  of  Act  One  is  a  Gallery  in  Merlin's 
Palace.  The  owner  is  communing  with  his  other 
self,  Arielle,  who  is  sleeping  on  the  marble  steps.  It 
appears  that  Merlin  has  somewhere,  somehow,  seen 
Joyzelle  and  selected  her  as  wife  for  his  son,  and 
that  both  those  persons  have  been  brought  to  this 
Island  to  be  under  the  supervision  of  Merlin,  who 
wishes  to  try  their  suitability  for  each  other.  Foot- 
steps are  heard,  and  Merlin  and  Arielle  withdraw, 
just  as  Lanceor,  the  son,  and  Joyzelle,  his  destiny, 

222 


Joyzelle 


223 


enter  from  opposite  directions.  It  is  what  we  pop- 
ularly term  "love  at  first  sight."  They  are  astonished 
at  the  mystery  of  their  arrivals  upon  the  Island. 
Lanceor  had  left  his  ship,  fallen  asleep  in  a  cave,  and 
awakened  to  find  himself  abandoned.  Then  he  had 
wandered  into  the  Palace.  Joyzelle  had  come  in  a 
r  lore  conventional  manner;  she  had  been  bound  for 
iome  unknown  place  to  meet  a  mysterious  person  to 
whom  she  was  betrothed,  and  the  ship  had  been 
wrecked  during  a  storm,  and  Merlin  had  taken  her 
into  the  Palace  and  had  shown  her  every  considera- 
tion and  courtesy.  Lanceor  at  once  feels  that  Mer- 
lin is  his  rival,  and  begrudges  him  even  the  past  pleas- 
ure of  rescuing  the  fair  Joyzelle  from  the  cruel  waves. 
Suddenly  Merlin  enters,  threateningly  advances  upon 
Lanceor,  forbids  his  further  seeing  Joyzelle,  nd  or- 
ders him  to  the  apartments  reserved  for  him,  where 
he  will  be  held  a  captive.  Lanceor  defiantly  with- 
draws vowing  that  he  will  see  Joyzelle  soon  again. 
Merlin  assures  him  that  he  will  see  her  at  risk  of 
her  death,  and  so  he  quietly  acquiesces  to  the  sen- 
tence. But  Joyzelle  insists  that  no  such  threat  will 
deter  her  from  seeing  Lanceor  again. 

Act  Two  is  laid  in  a  wild  garden  overrun  with 
weeds.  To  Joyzelle  in  the  garden  comes  Lanceor 
with  protestations  of  love.  Suddenly  the  weeds  grow 
into  enormous  plants  which  almost  suffocate  the  two 
hapless  beings,  and  at  this  instant  Merlin  returns, 
and  in  haste  Lanceor  hides  behind  a  weed.  Merlin 
accuses  Joyzelle  of  having  seen  and  talked  with 
Lanceor;  she  remains  motionless.  But  Lanceor  cries 
in  pain  and  she  rushes  to  him,  to  discover  in  horror 

noxious  reotile.     Merlin 


that  he  has 


by 


jpti 


if 

t  « 

il 


I   I 


224  The  Psychology  of  Maeterlinck 

triumphantly  announces  that  Lanceor  will  die,  altho 
in  his  power  rests  the  ability  to  give  him  life.  In 
sadness  Joyzelle  leaves.  Merlin  dresses  lis  son's 
wound,  and  kisses  him  tenderly.  Arielle,  the  other 
self,  prepares  another  trap  as  a  test.  She  seats  her- 
self on  the  rim  of  the  basin  of  the  fountain,  and  as 
Lanceor  awakens  he  is  bewitched,  and  in  a  sudden 
sweep  of  passion  kisses  Arielle.  Joyzelle  is  heard  to 
cry  in  distress.  Arielle  vanishes  into  the  air,  and 
Lanceor  tries  to  explain  the  situation  to  Joyzelle  who 
has  seen  all ;  but  she  goes  out  weeping,  leaving  him 
to  ponder  on  his  pitiable  condition. 

Act  Three,  Scene  One,  reveals  Lanceor  before  a 
mirror  in  the  Palace,  gazing  in  horror  upon  his  aged 
appearance,  due  to  the  poison  in  his  veins.  Joyzelle 
enters  and  tries  to  comfort  him  by  saying  that  the 
mirror  is  not  accurate  in  its  reflection;  but  he  knows 
better.  She  claims  that  she  loves  his  soul,  and  that 
no  matter  what  his  outer  transformation,  that  she 
will  always  be  true.  They  embrace  passionately. 
Scene  Two  is  a  Grove  with  Joyzelle  sleeping  on  a 
marble  bench.  Merlin,  led  by  Arielle,  comes  in 
dressed  like  his  son,  stands  in  the  shadow  of  a  box- 
hedge,  and  calls  to  Joyzelle;  then  kneels  and  kisses 
her.  She  awakens,  and  for  a  moment  believes  him 
to  be  Lanceor,  but  as  Merlin  embraces  her  she  shrinks 
from  him,  and  launches  a  terrible  tirade  for  his  cruel 
conduct.  Merlin  tells  her  that  she  alone  can  save 
Lanceor,  and  departs  leaving  her  to  solitary  reflec- 
tion. 

Act  Four  is  a  room  where  Lanceor,  lifeless,  lies 
upon  a  carved  bed  of  marble.  Joyzelle  is  weeping 
over  him.    Merlin  enters  and  says  that  it  is  still  pos- 


Joyzelle 


225 


I 


sible  to  save  him  by  giving  a  part  of  his  own  life,  but 
as  a  condition  Joyzelle,  at  the  moment  of  her  own 
supreme  happiness,  must  surrender  to  him,  Merlin, 
her  own  purity  of  womanhood.  She  hesitates,  then, 
carried  by  the  force  of  her  great  love,  agrees.  Mer- 
lin breathes  life  into  Lanceor,  and  leaves  the  lovers 
together. 

Act  Five,  Scene  One,  is  the  same  gallery  as  first 
seen,  (Act  One),  and  reveals  Lanceor  and  Merlin  in 
converse,  the  father  revealing  his  identity  to  his  son 
and  confiding  to  him  that  Joyzelle  has  long  been 
chosen  as  his  wife  if  she  can  bear  the  tests  inflicted 
upon  her  to  disc-ver  her  worthiness,  but  that  one 
more,  and  supreme  test,  ren  -ins.  They  separate. 
Scene  Two  is  the  bedchamber  once  more.  Merlin  is 
seated  on  the  marble  bed  with  Arielle  kneeling  at  his 
liead.  anxiously  begging  him  to  give  up  this  last  test. 
Merlin  refuses,  and  stretches  himself  for  sleep.  Joy- 
zelle enters,  timid,  hesitating,  and  approaches  him. 
She  sets  down  her  lamp,  pulls  forth  a  dagger,  and  is 
about  to  stab  the  sleeping  Merlin,  but  his  unseen, 
ever-wakeful  self  (the  subconscious,  or  subjective) 
grasps  her  hand  and  restrains  the  fatal  blow.  Mer- 
lin uwakens,  takes  her  tenderly  in  his  arms,  tells  her 
that  she  has  made  him  very  happy,  and  that  she  is 
the  right  woman  for  his  son.  Lanceor  suddenly  ap- 
pears, takes  Joyzelle  in  his  arms  and  kisses  her;  then 
both  turn  to  the  Father  gratefully. 


!  I 


1  ' 


'i  I 


1^  \i\ 


THE  BLUE  BIRD 


A  Poetical  Drama  in  Five  Acts  and  Ten  Scenes 


Ascribed  to  Year  1908 
Cast 


j  - 


Tyltyl 
Mytyl 
Light 

The  P'airy  Berylune 
Neighbor  Berlingot 
Uaddy  Tyl 
Mummy  Tyl 
Gaffer  Tyl  ^ 

Granny  Tyl  I 

Tyltyl's  Brothers  and  j' ^^^^ 

Sisters  J 

Time 
Night 
Neighbor    Berlingot's    Little 

Daughter 
Tylo,  the  Dog 
Tylette 
Bread 
Sugar 
Fire 
Water 
Milk 

Stars,  Sicknesses,  Shades,  etc. 

226 


The  Wolf 
The  Pig 
The  Ox 
The  Cow 
The  Bull 
The  Sheep 
The  Cock 

The  Rabbit 
The  Horse 
The  Ass 
The  Oak 
The  Elm 
The  Beech 

The  Lime-Tree 

The  Fir-Tree 

The  Cypress 

The  Birch 

The  Chestnut-Tree 

The  Ivy 

The  Poplar 

The  Willow 


The  Blue  Bird 


227 


Place:— J  Woodtiiitct' s  Cottage  ami  Beyond  the 
I  ale. 

I'iiiie :      The  Present. 

(  llie  nine  Bird  w  :is  presented  at  the  New  Thea- 
tre, New  \()rk  City.  October  i,  19 10,  with  Miss 
(ihidys  Ilulette  as  Tyltyl.  ft  has  also  been  played  in 
London.) 


I' 


Act  One,    jcene  One,   is  within  the  Woodcutter's 
Cottage,   and  his   two  children,    Mytyl   and    Tyltyl, 
are  sleeping  with   Mummy    lyl  bending  o\er  them 
and  motioning  to   Daddy  Tyl   to  be  quiet  and  not 
awaken  them.      As  the  parents  withtlraw,   the  chil- 
dren seem  to  awaken,  and  sit  up  in  bed.     They  begin 
talking  of  Christmas  and  lament  that  Mummy  Tyl 
couldn't  get  to  the  town  to  purchase  them  any  gifts, 
but  that  in  another  year  they  will  be   remembered. 
They  suddenly  notice  a  brightness  sliining  through 
the  shutters,  ami  run  to  peek  out  at  the  Christmas 
Tree  of  the  rich  children  opposite,  who  are  gi\  ing  a 
Christmas  Fve  Party.     In  the  midst  of  their  joy  in 
beholding  what  is  happening  in  the  house  opposite, 
there  comes  a  knock  at  the  door  which  terrifies,  but 
after   a    moment   the    door   opens   and   a    little    old 
F'airy  enters.     She  is  seeking  "grass  that  sings  and  a 
bird  that  is  blue."    She  examines  the  bird  which  Tyl- 
tyl owns,  but  declines  it  as  not  sufficiently  blue.    The 
Fairy  goes  on  to  explain  that  she  wants  such  a  bird 
for  her  own  little  girl  who  is  ill  with  a  strange  dis- 
ease, an  intense  desire  to  be  happy!     Then  she  tells 
the  sympathetic  children  that  they  must  voyage  alone 
in  quest  of  this  bird,  and  that  it  lies  beyond  the  King- 
dom of  the  Land  of  Memory,  and  that  there  they 


i 


\ 

I 


228 


The  Psychology  of  Maeterlinck 


will  see  their  dead  grandparents  and  little  brothers 
and  sisters.  She  gives  them  a  little  green  hat  with  a 
shining  diamond  which  will  make  them  see  things  as 
they  are,  and  even  to  look  into  people's  very  souls. 
Tyltyl  tries  the  hat  on  and  the  Fairy,  the  house,  the 
furnishings  become  wonderfully  beautiful,  and  the 
works  of  the  clock,  the  hours,  come  forth  from  the 
case.  Bread  and  Fire  materialize.  The  Dog  and 
Cat  become  endowed  with  human  attributes  ana  walk 
erect.  Water  and  Fire  begin  to  fight  to  extinguish 
each  other.  The  milk  spills,  breaking  the  jug.  Sugar 
becomes  a  beautiful  lady  in  flowing  white.  There 
comes  a  knocking,  and  instantly  Tyltyl  turns  the  dia- 
mond and  the  wakened  souls  reseek  their  customary 
habitations,  tho  Bread  has  grown  too  large  to  occupy 
the  pan.  The  knocking  continues,  and  the  Fairy 
hastily  leads  the  children  out  by  the  window.  The 
room  becomes  as  at  first,  quiet,  steeped  in  darkness. 
The  door  opens  and  Daddy  and  Mummy  Tyl  peck 
in  and  pronounce  the  children  as  quietly  sleeping  in 
their  bed. 

Act  Two,  Scene  One,  is  the  gorgeous  entrance- 
hall  of  Fairy-Berylune's  Palace.  Out  from  the 
Fairy's  wardrobe  come  trooping  in  gorgeous  attire 
the  Cat,  Sugar,  and  Fire,  then  the  Dog  and  Water, 
and  later  Bread,  and  after  another  while  the  Fairy 
as  the  old  woman  we  first  saw,  accompanied  by  Light, 
and  Tyltyl  and  Mytyl.  The  children  are  being  in- 
structed previous  to  resuming  their  journey  on  the 
morrow.  To  Bread  is  entrusted  the  empty  cage 
which  is  to  harbor  the  Blue  Bird  of  Happiness. 
Bread  and  Sugar  are  to  furnish  nourishment  for  the 
way,  and  these  give  an  exhibition  of  their  magic  pow- 


IM 


The  Blue  Bird 


229 


crs  of  slicing  off  portions  of  their  anatomy  for  suste- 
nance. The  Fairy  points  the  way  toward  the  Land 
of  Memory,  and  warns  them  to  be  back  at  a  quarter 
of  nine.  The  children  go  in  the  one  direction,  and 
the  Fairy  conducts  the  Dog,  Cat,  and  other  members 
of  the  incongruous  company  in  the  opposite.  Scene 
I'wo  is  in  the  Land  of  Memory.  It  seems  a  forest, 
shrouded  in  obscurity;  but,  in  a  few  minutes  after 
the  children  appear,  the  misty  veil  lifts,  and  we  see 
an  attractive  cottage  with  peaceful  surroundings,  and 
on  a  bench  sit  Granny  and  Gaffer  Tyl,  who  awaken 
from  their  sleep  and  affectionately  greet  their  two 
grandchildren.  At  the  door  the  children  discover 
their  own  blackbird  which  had  long  since  died,  but 
as  they  look  at  it,  it  begins  to  sing,  and  then  turns 
quite  blue,  and  the  excited  children  beg  for  him.  The 
grandparents  consenting,  the  children  bring  the  silver 
cage  and  put  the  bird  within,  tho  they  are  admon- 
ished that  the  bird  may  fly  back  again  at  the  first  op- 
portunity. Then  the  seven  dead  brothers  and  sisters 
come  from  the  house  each  playing  Pan-pipes.  Kiki, 
a  little  dog,  is  also  there.  Then  the  clock  strikes 
eight,  much  to  the  astonishment  of  all,  for  this  is  the 
Land  of  Death  where  all  is  silence.  The  Grandpar- 
ents give  each  of  the  children  a  bowl  of  soup,  and  all 
sit  happily  about  the  table.  The  clock  strikes  the 
half  hour,  and  the  children  realize  that  they  must 
hurry  if  they  would  be  back  at  the  requisite  time. 
Granny  Tyl  begs  them  to  return  every  day,  kisses 
them  goodbye,  and  the  radiant  children  take  up  the 
cage  with  the  precious  Blue  Bird  and  start  their  jour- 
ney back  to  the  Land  of  Reality.  Slowly  the  scene 
changes  to  the  quiet  which  first  reigned;  the  mists 


230  The  Psychology  of  Maeterlinck 


•    I 


thicken,  and  soon  all  is  blotted  out,  except  the  two 
children  in  the  foreground.  However,  they  have  the 
bird  safely;  but,  looking  to  be  assured  that  it  is  still 
safe,  they  find  that  it  is  only  the  poor,  dead  blackbird 
of  long  ago! 

Act  Three  is  in  the  radiant  Palace  of  Night.  Night 
herself  sits  on  the  basaltic  steps,  with  a  child  asleep 
at  either  knee,  one  veiled,  the  other  quite  innocent  of 
clothing.     The  Cat  sneaks  in,  and  is  reproved  for 
night-prowling.     The   Cat  urges   Mother  Night  to 
aid  in  keeping  the  children   from  getting  into  the 
chamber  where  lies  the  Blue  Bird.  In  a  moment  Dog 
comes  in  with  the  hosts,  conducting  Tyltyl,  who  asks 
for  the  keys  to  open  the  doors.     Mother  Night  de- 
clines,  and   is  quite  angry  when  she  learns  that  it 
was  Light  who  had  instructed  him  to  demand  the 
keys.      But   he  turns  the   diamond   in   his  hat,   and 
Night  delivers  the  keys,  altho  she  abjures  responsi- 
bility for  what  may  befall  if  the  doors  be  unlocked. 
The  undaunted  child  opens  the  doors  and  some  ghosts 
rush  out;  then  other  doors,  the  doors  of  the  rooms 
of  the  Diseases,  from  which  moans  and  groans  issue 
forth,  but  no  person,  as  they  are  all  too  ill  to  walk. 
However,  the  mildest,  Cold-in-the-Head,  does  ven- 
ture to  the  door,  and  runs  quickly  back.     Then  the 
door  of  the  Wars  is  tried,  and  these  strive  to  burst 
forth  in  roaring  fury,  but  Tyltyl  and  his  friends  push 
with  all  their  strength  and  force  to  the  door.    Then 
come  the  Shades  and  Terrors,  a  sickly  lot ;  the  Mys- 
teries are  peeked  at,  lying  in  their  darksome  cham- 
ber; then  Silence,  awful  Monster;  then  the  Will-o'- 
the-Wisps,  Glow-worms,  Fireflies,  Dew,  Song  of  the 
Nightingales,  and  the  Stars.    At  length,  the  boy  ap- 


li^ 


The  Blue  Bird 


231 


preaches  the  final  doorway,  that  at  the  very  back,  and, 
whilst  all  but  the  Dog  desert  him,  ••ows  open  the 
brazen  doors,  and  discloses  a  garden  m  the  sky,  filled 
with  thousands  of  glorious  Blue  Birds.  As  he  cries 
with  rapture  and  delight,  Mytyl  comes  in  and  the 
children  and  their  allies  strive  to  catch  the  birds. 
They  exit  with  their  hands  filled  with  the  birds,  but 
as  the  scene  closes  in  the  children  discover  that  the 
birds  are  all  lifeless,  and  the  tired  little  Tyltyl  bursts 
into  heart-rending  sobs  of  disappointment.  Scene 
Two  is  in  the  Poorest,  and  here  the  Cat  comes  to  con- 
spire with  the  Trees  against  Tyltyl,  whose  father,  the 
woodcutter,  has  done  them  much  harm  in  times  past. 
When  Tyltyl  enters  the  Cat  runs  fawningly  to  meet 
him,  by  solicitous  words  and  false  purring  striving 
to  conceal  his  own  duplicity.  However,  the  faithful 
Dog  is  along,  and  Cat  suggests  that  "his  presence  is 
odious"  and  to  dismiss  him.  This  Tyltyl  proceeds 
to  do,  tho  it  is  necessary  to  resort  to  blows  to  force 
this  faithful  friend  to  depart,  and,  in  spite  of  all,  the 
poor  Dog  insists  upon  kissing  his  strange,  inexplica- 
ble little  master,  and  when  Mytyl  enters  almost  top- 
ples her  over  with  the  exuberance  of  his  ecstacy.  Tyl- 
tyl turns  the  diamond,  and  the  trees  assume  human 
semblance  and  stretch  themselves  to  rest  their  limbs, 
stiffened  from  so  long  confinement  in  the  tight  bark. 
All  the  trees  comment  upon  the  ch''dren.  The  Oak 
at  length  comes,  crippled  and  ancient,  the  Blue  Bird 
perched  upon  his  venerable  shoulder.  At  once  the 
children  run  toward  the  Blue  Bird.  The  Cat  bids 
them  recollect  their  manners  and  orders  Tyltyl  to 
remove  his  hat  to  this  worthy  sir.  He  obeys  and  po- 
litely explains  who  he  is,  whence  and  wherefore  he 


Nl 


'I 

i  , 

!  I 

i 


m 


■  't   ■ '  I 


t  p 


». 


1? 


232  The  Psychology  of  Maeterlinck 


I. 


has  come.  The  Oak  replies  that  all  the  animals  must 
be  consulted  before  the  precious  Blue  Bird  can  be 
surrendered.  At  once  are  heard  sounds  of  their  ap- 
proach, and  entering  the  animals  group  themselves 
about  the  feet  of  the  Irees.  The  Oak  explains  the 
situation  and  advises  that  for  their  own  future  safety 
and  to  avenge  past  wrongs,  that  they  shall  unitedly 
destroy  Tyltyl.  The  Dog  growls  in  displeasure,  and 
shows  his  teeth  to  the  villainous  Oak.  Tyltyl,  at  the 
suggestion  of  the  Cat,  again  tries  to  dismiss  the  Dog, 
and  Cat  adds  that  he  be  chained.  Search  discloses 
that  the  leash  has  been  lost,  so  Ivy  is  requisitioned, 
and  timorously  approaches.  Poor  Tylo  lies  down 
obediently  and  Ivy  is  entwined  about  his  neck.  Ihen 
Ivy  and  Poplar  carry  Tylo  bound  and  lay  him  behind 
the  Oak.  The  conference  continues,  and  Tyltyl  be- 
comes uneasy,  but  Cat  consoles.  After  some  further 
deliberation,  the  Oak  starts  menacingly  toward  Tyl- 
tyl who  realizes  the  import,  draws  his  knife,  and  pre- 
pares to  withstand  the  attack.  Poor  Oak  retires  by 
the  advice  of  the  other  Trees,  who  decide  that  it 
would  be  wiser  to  leave  the  destruction  of  the  chil- 
dren to  ine  animals  present.  Mytyl  begins  to  shriek, 
but  brave  I'yltyl  places  her  behind  him,  and  wields 
his  little  knife  like  some  Knight  of  Old  in  defence  of 
Lady  Fair.  Each  animal  advances  threateningly, 
but  all  fear  the  knife;  then  comes  the  slinking,  cow- 
ardly wolf  who  makes  attack  from  behind.  In  dis- 
tress, as  the  Trees  are  now  closing  in  upon  them,  the 
valiant  lad  calls  to  Tylo,  then  for  Tylette,  who  makes 
excuse  of  a  sprained  paw  for  not  assisting.  But  Tylo 
is  true,  and,  bursting  his  bonds,  works  his  way  to  his 
master's  side.    The  battle  rages  fiercely  and  bids  fair 


The  Blue  Bird 


233 


to  see  the  two  youngsters  vanquished,  when  their  true 
friend,  Light,  enters  and  bids  him  turn  the  Diamond 
and  so  compel  the  Trees  and  Animals  to  resume 
their  customary  shapes.  He  obeys,  and  the  assailants 
vanish  whence  they  came.  When  the  fray  is  o'er,  the 
Janus-Paced  Cat  appears  with  a  gross  fabrication 
that  the  Ox  had  injured  him,  and  straightway  receives 
the  solicitudes  of  kindhearted  Mytyl.  The  Dog 
growls  a  threat  of  future  punishment  awaiting  the 
Cat,  and  Cat  straightway  whimpers  complaint  to 
Mytyl,  who  only  coddles  the  Cat  the  more,  and 
brushes  aside  the  faithful  Dog  who  is  left  alone  in 
his  miseries  by  the  others  who  go  away. 

Act  Four,  Scene  One,  takes  place  before  the  Cur- 
tain. The  children  and  their  allies  come  out.  Light 
has  received  a  letter  from  the  Fairy,  telling  her  that 
the  Blue  Bird  may  be  lurking  in  the  graveyard,  but 
that  one  of  the  dead  is  still  hiding  there,  and  that  they 
shall  have  to  discover  him.  Faithful  Dog  would  re- 
main to  guard  and  protect,  but  this  is  not  permitted 
by  the  Fairy,  and  as  some  of  the  other  companions 
bear  the  dead  a  grudge,  they  too  are  forced  to  with- 
draw, and  the  two  children  stand  alone  in  the  middle 
of  the  stage  as  the  curtain  rises  disclosing, — Scene 
Two,  the  Graveyard  at  Midnight.  The  clock  strikes 
the  hour  from  a  distant  tower,  the  graves  open,  ten- 
der, glowing  vapors  rise  upward,  flowers  begin  to 
bloom  as  the  Dawn  approaches,  the  birds  sing,  the 
bees  hum,  and  all  is  beautiful  and  serene  in  the  burst- 
ing blaze  of  morning  light.  Then  comes  one  of  the 
most  beautiful  of  all  the  many  beautiful  utterances  to 
be  found  in  this  play,  Mytyl  peers  into  the  empty 
graves  and  comments  upon  the  fact  that  the  graves 


it  r^ 


I 
1 


■i.U 


///(■   /'>}■<  linlii'^y  i)j   M  aitt'iimck 


"■-  ■  1 


^". 


arc  empty.  iyltyl,  wise  beyond  his  years,  replies, 
"Ihere  are  no  dead  I"  Scene  J  hree  is  the  beautiful 
Kingdom  oi  the  l-uture.  It  is  a  glorious  Azure  HaH, 
peopled  by  darling  thiKireii,  working  on  occupations 
which  will  be  theiis  when  born.  Jlvery  type  and  tem- 
perament is  here  represented.  1-iglit  alone  guides 
tile  two  children  into  this  mysterious  world  ot  chil- 
dren waiting  to  be  born.  Many  of  the  children  stop 
in  tlieir  occupations  to  look  curiously  at  1  yltyl  and 
-Mytyl.  for  they  are  not  yet  familiar  with  the  appear- 
ance ol  earth-chiKlren.  In  tiie  midst  of  the  reception, 
there  comes,  a  sound  from  without  the  opal  doors, 
and  a  glowing  liglit.  Ihe  babes  lay  down  their  tasks 
and  draw  nearer  to  tnc  great  doors.  Slowly  the 
doors  untold,  and  Father  i  iim  in  his  typical  cos- 
tume comes  in.  iieliind  iiim,  as  the  doors  continue 
to  unfold,  is  seen  a  boat  with  wliite  and  gold  sails. 
Toward  it  rush  the  children,  and  Father  Time  as- 
sorts them,  allowing  some  to  freight  tlie  frigate,  and 
turning  back  otiiers.  Some  children  go  gladly,  some 
are  loath  to  lea\  e  their  lovely  home  and  companions. 
At  length  the  boat  is  hulen  with  its  precious  cargo, 
and  begins  to  mo\  c  towartl  earth.  I  he  cries  of  joy 
of  the  children  as  e;irth  comes  in  sight  are  hearil 
from  the  ilistancc.  as  lime  closes  the  doors.  For 
the  lit  St  he  discovers  I  yltyl  and  Mytyl  and  demands 
where  they  appeared  from,  but  Fight  cautions  them 
to  heed  him  not,  and  to  follow  her  tor  she  has  found 
the  Blue  Bird,  and  has  it  safely  hidden  beneath  the 
folds  of  her  cloak  ! 

Act  Five,  Scene  One,  depicts  a  red  wall  with  a 
srn:i!!  green  donr.  R;  tore  it  stnnti  the  children  and 
their  companions  of  the  eventful  voyage  of  discov- 


The  Blue  Bird 


a35 


cry.  Light  is  surprised  that  the  children  do  not  rec- 
ugni/t  the  duor,  and  Hnally  tells  them  that  it  is 
"home,"  which  they  had  left  the  year  before.  The 
children  examine  the  door  with  keen  interest  and  rec- 
ognize its  familiar  aspect,  and  are  impatient  to  pull 
the  latch-string  and  enter,  but  Light  tells  them  not 
yet.  l*oor  I  yltyl  says  sadly  that  he  has  not  brought 
the  Hluc  Bird  after  all,  for  each  vanished  or  changed 
as  he  possessed  himself  of  it.  Light  comforts  him, 
;uul  then  one  by  one  their  companions  begin  to  take 
their  farewell,  kissing  them  tenderly.  Just  then  the 
Cat  comes  in  pursued  by  the  Dog.  Poor  Cat  is  bitten 
and  scratched,  and  her  clotliing  is  in  veritable  shreds. 
By  force  the  children  separate  the  combatants,  and 
the  Cat  whimpers  of  her  abuse,  and  Dog  mutters 
that  she  has  had  enough  for  one  time.  Light  tells  them 
that  they  are  about  to  resume  their  natural  shapes, 
and  that  no  more  will  they  be  able  to  talk  with  their 
little  friends,  and  sorrow  seizes  them.  Even  Light 
must  leave  them  now,  for  she  never  enters  this  little 
green  door.  With  a  touchingly  beautiful  speech,  Light 
tells  them  that  she  will  always  be  visible  to  them  in 
the  rays  of  the  sun,  in  the  moonbeams,  the  stars,  and 
as  the  clock  begins  to  strike  the  hour  of  eight.  Light 
gently  pushes  the  little  ones  through  the  small  door- 
way, and,  as  the  door  closes  behind  Tyltyl  and  Mytyl, 
one  loud  lamentation  is  heard  arising  from  their 
companions  of  the  year. 

Scene  Two  is  the  same  as  that  first  disclosed  in 
Act  One.  Only  the  home  seems  more  homelike,  more 
beautiful.  The  children  are  sleeping  peacefully;  the 
Dog  and  Cat  are  lying  upon  their  ^.ccustomed  mats. 
Mummy  Tyl  comes  in  scolding  the  children  for  being 


•>.»'»! 


■i\ 


fr,h>     I. 


236  The  Psychology  of  Maeterlinck 

so  tardy  in  arising.  Tyltyl  awakens,  and,  half-asleep, 
cries  for  Light.  Mummy  Tyl  throws  open  the  win- 
dows admitting  the  warm  sunshine.  Mytyl  awakens, 
and  the  two  children  begin  talking  of  the  things 
which  they  have  seen,  and  asking  about  the  present. 
Mummy  Tyl,  mystified,  thinks  that  the  children  must 
have  discovered  the  father's  Brandy  and  been  partak- 
ing of  it.  She  makes  them  walk  across  the  room  to 
demonstrate  that  they  are  not  affected  by  the  drink. 
Daddy  Tyl  is  called  and  enters  with  his  axe.  The 
children  kiss  him  joyfully,  and  he  asks  what  is  wrong. 
Mummy  Tyl  weepingly  says  that  they  are  ill  and  that 
God  will  take  these  children  as  He  did  the  others, 
and,  as  Tyltyl  and  Mytyl  continue  prattling  she  bids 
Daddy  go  for  a  Doctor.  Neighbor  Berlinger  knocks 
and  is  admitted,  wishing  them  a  Merry  Christmas. 
Tyltyl,  supposing  her  the  Fairy,  addresses  her  as 
such  and  plaintively  says,  "I  could  not  find  the  Blue 
Bird."  The  Neighbor  laughs,  and  says  that  her  own 
child  is  still  very  ill,  but  has  been  pleading  for  a 
strange  thing,  no  less  than  the  children's  birdl  Tyltyl 
goes  to  get  it,  sees  the  cage  is  the  same,  but  that  the 
bird  is  only  a  turtle-dove,  but,  wonder  of  wonders, 
it  is  blue!  He  climbs  on  a  chair,  unhooks  the  cage, 
and  gives  it  gladly  to  the  Neighbor,  who,  astonished 
at  the  child's  liberality,  takes  it,  kisses  him  and  has- 
tens with  this  Christmas  happiness  to  her  sick  daugh- 
ter. 

The  children  go  into  raptures  over  the  fresh, 
pleasing  appearance  of  the  room,  of  the  stretch  of 
forest  just  outside  the  window,  of  everything.  And 
Daddy  Tyl  says,  to  Mummy  Tyl,  "Don't  worry, 
they  are  simply  playing  at  being  happy."  Then  comes 


The  Blue  Bird 


237 


the  Neighbor  with  her  little  sick  girl  clutching  close 
the  dove,  and  the  children  stare  at  her  in  astonish- 
ment for  to  them  she  looks  so  much  like  the  own  dear 
friend,  Light,— only  smaller.  The  Neighbor  pushes 
the  little  girl  toward  Tyltyl  for  him  to  kiss  her,  and 
the  bird  is  released,  and  flies  away  through  the  door, 
causing  the  little  girl  to  burst  into  tears,  but  manly 
Tyltyl  exclaims,  "I  will  catch  him  again  1"  Then  in 
a  few  words  of  epilogue  he  addresses  the  audience 
and  begs  that  if  any  one  find  the  Blue  Bird  to  bring 
him  back,  for  he  may  be  needed  "for  our  happiness 
later  on."  And  does  not  this  line  suggest  to  us  the 
possibility  of  betrothal  in  later  years  of  this  tiny 
neighbor  and  our  fascinating  friend,  Tyltyl? 


i 

i  , 

I  i 


*  1 


Ml 


I    ! 


>.||' 


|C.»f 


MARY  MAGDALENE 

Religious  Drama  in  Three  Acls  and  Three  Scenes 
Ascribed  to  Year  1910 

Cast 

Annoeus  Silanus,  a  Philosopher 
Lucius  Verus,  a  Captain 
Appius 
Coelius 
Lazarus 
Nicodemus 
Joseph  of  Arimathea 
Martha 

Mary  Magdalene 
Levi  the  Publican 
Simon  the  Leper 
Cleophas 
Zaccheus 

The  Man  born  Blind 
Bartimaeus,  the  Blind  Man  of  Jericho 
The  Man  of  Gerasa,  Possessed  of  a  Devil 
The  Impotent  Man  of  Bethesda 
The  Man  Healed  of  a  Dropsy 
The  Man  Whose  Hand  was  Withered 
Simon  Peter's  Mother-in-Law,  Mary  Cleophas 
Salome,  the  Wife  of  Zebedee 
Susanna 

Several  nameless  Men  and  Women  cured  by  Mira- 
cles 

238 


Mary  Magdalene 


23<? 


Several  Hunchback,  Halt,  Blind,    Lepers,    Palsied. 

Waiting  to  be  healed. 
Several  Harlots,  Some  Beggars,  etc. 

Place:— Bethany  and  Jerusalem. 

The  Time  of  Christ's  Passion. 

{Alary  Magdalene,  translation  made  by  Mr. 
Alexander  Teixeira  de  Mattos,  was  presented  at  the 
New  Theatre,  New  York  City,  Dec.  5th,  19 10,  with 
Miss  Olga  Nethersole  as  the  Magdalen.) 


Act  One  is  in  the  Palace  of  Annoeus  Silanus  at 
Bethany.  He  enters  with  Lucius  \'erus,  one  of  his 
former  pupils.  In  a  few  moments  Mary  Magdalene, 
resplendent  in  attire,  comes  in  from  her  villa,  which 
is  on  the  other  side  of  the  hill.  She  is  complaining  of 
the  theft  during  the  night  of  rubies,  and  some  pearls, 
of  a  precious  peacock,  and  some  fish.  She  blames  the 
followers  of  the  Nazarene  who  are  gathered  in  the 
vicinity.  Silanus  protests  that  Jews  may  be  crafty, 
but  that  they  do  not  steal.  Verus  offers  to  have  them 
apprehended.  Then  he  turns  to  Magdalene  and 
makes  protestations  of  his  continuing  love,  and  ex- 
presses joy  at  again  seeing  her.  Appius  enters  with  Sil- 
anus, and  this  puts  an  end  to  their  conversation.  The 
talk  turns  to  a  discussion  of  the  Nazarene  and  His 
miracles,  and  Silanus  tells  them  that  He  is  the  guest 
of  Simon  in  the  house  at  the  back  of  his  own  garden. 
Just  then  some  of  the  sick  poor  enter  the  garden  and 
are  driven  out  by  Silanus's  servants.  A  commotion 
starts  without,  and  they  sec  sick  and  halt  being 
brought  for  cure.  Carried  away  with  desire,  Mary 
Magdalene  goes  to  the  end  of  the  garden,  and  steps 
through   the   separating  hedge,   enraptured  by  the 


240  The  Psychology  of  Maeterlinck 


I   t 


\\   \ 


»iv*'! 


\  ■' 


►'«) 


words  of  the  Beatitudes  which  are  falling  from  the 
Teacher's  lips.  But  the  crowd  suddenly  become  aware 
of  her  contaminating  presence,  and  raise  stones 
against  her.  She  rushes  back  into  the  garden  whence 
she  had  come,  but  stands  motionless  as  she  hears  the 
voice  of  the  Teacher  commanding  that  only  those 
shall  cast  stones  who  are  themselves  without  sin.  In 
the  distance  there  is  heard  the  sound  of  falling  stones. 
Act  Two  is  in  the  Magdalene's  Villa  at  Bethany. 
Verus  enters  and  is  greeted  cordially  by  her.  He  is 
surprised  at  her  cordial  welcoming.  But  Mary  says 
that  she  is  a  changed  woman,  due  to  her  experience 
in  the  garden  of  Silanus.  The  topic  is  distasteful  to 
the  lover,  and  he  says  that  that  man  will  soon  be  out 
of  their  way,  in  fact  that  this  very  evening  He  will 
be  arrested.  She  pleads  for  the  life  of  the  Teacher, 
and  Verus  misunderstands  the  sentiment  provocative 
of  the  plea.  Silanus  and  Appius  enter,  filled  with 
amazement  at  the  miracle  just  witnessed,  the  Raising 
of  Lazarus.  Just  then  a  crowd  appears  in  the  dis- 
tance approaching  toward  the  house.  Slaves  strive 
to  bar  the  way  to  the  foremost  who  are  pushing  into 
the  courtyard,  but  Lazarus  walks  past,  and  approach- 
ing Mary  announces  "The  Master  calls  you."  Verus 
steps  forward  and  attempts  to  prevent  her  from  fol- 
lowing Lazarus,  but  Mary  waves  him  aside,  and,  as 
he  still  persists  in  preventing  her  from  following,  she 
throws  herself  weeping  into  his  arms,  and  he  pas- 
sionately clasps  her  to  his  breast.  With  harsh  voice 
he  dismisses  Lazarus.  At  the  raucous  sound  she  is 
filled  with  remorse,  and  struggles  with  her  better-self, 
irresistibly  drawn  by  the  command,  yet  striving  to 
withstand  the  call.     Verus,  in  wrathful  iadignation 


Mary  Magdalene 


241 


casts  her  off  and  bids  her  go,  if  she  will,  and  adds  a 
sinister  threat.  Dazed,  Mary  arises,  and  as  one  in 
a  dream,  majestically  follows  Lazarus  from  the  build- 
ing, leaving  Appius  and  Silanus  in  amazement  at  this 
strange  event  which  they  proclaim  as  a  veritable  mir- 
acle. 

Act  Three  is  laid  in  the  supper-room  of  the  house 
of  Joseph  of  Arimathea.  Here  is  assembled  a  mot- 
ley throng  of  lame,  halt,  blind  persons  desiring  to  be 
cured,  and  persons  upon  whom  miracles  of  healing 
have  already  been  wrought.  Mary  Magdalene  sud- 
denly appears,  dishevelled,  torn  and  bleeding,  dis- 
tracted in  mind.  The  Christ  has  been  arrested,  they 
must  rescue  Him  if  Verus  does  not  keep  to  his  prom- 
ise to  free  Him.  The  assemblage  is  weak  in  faith, 
and  she  rallies  them  as  best  she  can,  spurs  them  to 
make  effort  at  rescue.  Disgusted  with  their  incon- 
sistency and  instability,  she  is  about  to  leave,  but  they 
prevent,  and  just  then  come  steps  without  and  a 
knocking,  and  Verus  is  soon  brought  up-stairs  to 
them.  She  rushes  in  joy  to  him,  but  he  thrusts  her 
aside  in  disgust  as  he  sees  the  miserable  wretches  who 
surround  her,  when  she  had  led  him  to  expect  to  see 
a  troop  of  soldiery.  Mary  asks  them  all  to  leave  her, 
and  she  begins  an  exhortation  to  Verus  not  to  aban- 
don her  and  Him  at  this  awful  hour.  He  replies 
that  he  has  been  impressed,  and  that  it  will  still  be 
possible  to  release  the  Captive,  but  that  she  must  pay 
the  price  demanded.  Mary  answers  that  she  has 
given  all  that  she  had  to  the  poor,  and  is  now  one 
like  unto  them,  for  she  has  left  no  more  of  worldly 
goods.  Then  Verus  suddenly  shows  that  he  is  ruled 
by  jealousy,  and  that  he  feels  that  Mary's  love  for 


!i1 


h  I 


.»^♦*|.     , 


I.  V 


242  The  Psychology  of  Maeterlinck 

him  is  divided  and  not  single.  She  suddenly  realizes 
that  she  cannot  save  the  Redeemer  except  at  the  ex- 
pense of  her  own  soul,  and  that  such  sacrifice  would 
be  but  to  give  Him  a  second  and  symbolical  death 
far  worse  than  any  physical  disintegration.  Verus  is 
maddened  with  her  beauty,  and  seizes  Mary  in  his 
passionate  embrace,  but  she  breaks  loose,  and  he 
rushes  to  the  door  and  bids  the  rabble  enter  and  see 
Mary  sacrifice  their  God  by  rejecting  him,  Verus. 
With  accusation  of  blame  laid  upon  her  shoulders 
he  strides  from  the  room. 

The  motley  horde  demand  to  know  the  price  which 
she  accepted  to  permit  of  the  death  of  their  Saviour, 
—how  much  money,  for  they  can't  realize  that  there 
are  prices  far  too  great  for  money  to  encompass. 
Suddenly  a  crowd  is  heard  below,  the  lights  are  ex- 
tinguished, and  all  crouch  in  terror  lest  they  be  seen 
in  the  window-openings,  and  themselves  be  taken  into 
custody.     The  procession  to  Golgotha  is  passing  in 
the  street  below,  and  once  more  Verus  comes  to  the 
threshold  for  a  last  time  to  seek  the  Magdalene's 
decision;  and  she,  standing    erect,    transfixed    with 
ecstacy,  transformed  by  the  glorifying  Light  which  is 
not  of  this  world,  dismisses  him  forever! 


K*?  ■  M 


INDEX 


Abbey  of  St.  Wandrllle,  20, 

III,  112 
Absalom  and  Achitophcl,  47 
Abstract  Impressions,  82,  83 
Abstract  Thought,  83 
Admiration,  150 
Adolescence,  54,  72,  79,  86, 

90,  147 
Adumbration,  152 
Aesthetic   Emotion,    17,   26, 

47.   97.   99.    109,    in, 

118,  142,  151 
Affection,  150 
Affinities,  38,  50,  80,  89 
Aglovaine  and  Selysette,  17, 

86,  151,  163,  204 
Aglovale,  132 
Agnosticism,  153 
Air-drawn-dagger,  26 
Alladine  and  Palomides,  17, 

120,  148,  161,  169,  194 
Anger,  46,  109 
Animal  Instinct,  42,  55 
Animal  Intelligence,  78 
Anti-Christian,  15,  141 
Antoine,  18,  160,  162,   165, 

183, 184 
Antwerp,  16 
Apostle,  21 
Apperception,  82 
Ardiane    and    Barbe    Bleue, 

17,  107,  149,  165,  215 
Arielle,  113 
Arlcel,  44 
Arnold,  53 


Arsene  Lupin,  21 
Art,  37 

Asphodel,  117,  124 
Astolainc,  148 
Atheism,  J  53 
Austria,  21,  166 

B 

Ballad  of  a  Nun,  100 

Balliol,  64 

Baby,  44,  50,  55 

Barrie,  18 

Bard-of-Avon,  17,  142 

Beatitudes,  89 

Becket,  30 

Belgium,  16 

Belgian  Shakespeare,  16,  25 

Bells,  30,  98,  99 

Bellangere,  130 

Bennett,  88,  95 

Bernhardt,  211 

Better-self,  114 

Bergson,  23,  25,  46,  56,  153 

Bianconi,  20 

Biography,  15 

Biology,  113 

Bioplasm,  49 

Blind,   17,   18,  48,  55.   124, 

153.  159.  169,  182 
Blue  Bird,   18,   58,  67,   153 

163,  167,  168,  226 
Boehme,  16 
Boileau,  13 
Botany,  77 

Boulevard  St.  Martin,  18 
Brain  and  Personality,  25 


243 


244 


Index 


I   ' 


?.«»'■, 


Bruges,  16,  112,  158 
Brussels,  i() 
Buried  Temple,  19 
Burns,  60 


CalvtS  21 

Campbell,  39,   ibi 

Carlyle,  ib 

Carr,  21 

Cardinal  VVolsey,   136 

Censor,  18 

Character,  27,  147,  150 

Charron,  32 

Char>bdis,  159 

Chemistr}',  28,  48,  50,   113 

Chcyne  -  Stokes     Breathinp, 

140 
Child  Reflects  Afi;es,   13O 
Chinese  Drama,  158 
Cliinesc     Philosopher,  ()() 
Chinvad  Bridge.  95 
Christian,   19,  131 
Christian  Science,  114 
Clairaudience,    1 3 1 
Clairvoyance,  48 
Code  for  Wives,  2 1 
Comedy  Relief,  59 
Communion  of  Souls,  75 
Complex  Kmotions,  98 
Confrontations,  },x 
Conscience.  44 
Consciousness,  2O,  70 
Contagious  Emotion,  52,  Oo, 

70,  137 
Continental  Dramatists,  ibo, 

164 
Contradictory       Tendencies, 

91 
Conversion,  90 
Cordelia.  34 
Cosmopolitan   Mafjazine.   21) 


Coyness,  86 
Craiji,  27,  163 
Cranford,  21 
Creative  Evolution,  56 
Crematory,  58 
Curiosity,  47,  65,  66,  153 
Cutting  of  an  Agate,  3 
Crystal  Gazer,  21 
Cyrano  de  Bergerac,  104 

D 

Daddy  Tyl,  77 

Dante,  141 

Darwin,  98 

Davidson,  100 

Death,  19,  122 

Death,  Approach,  37,  48,  53. 

55.  56,  57.  62,  79,  117, 

125,  1 2b,   129,  140 
Death  of  Tintagiles,  17,  20. 

48,  113,  128,  152,  162, 

169,  201 
Deceit,  118 
Degenerate,  1 18 
De  la  Sagesses.  32 
De  Mattos,  7,  239 
Dependence,  73 
De  Rennes,  21 
Debussy,  21,  38 
Descent  of  \Ian,  98 
Desire,  2b 
Desire  to  See,  120 
Destiny,  26 
Determinism,  153,  154 
Diseases  of   Personality,   82, 

91 
Disintegration    of    Personal 

ity,   102,  125 
Divorce,  17 
Double  Garden,  19 
Double  Personality,  114 
Doubt,  124,    153 


Index 

^ 

1 

1 

Douglas,  1 6 

Fiske,  27 

1 

Drama-Novel,  157 

Fitch,  114 

Dramatist,  27,  157,  169 

Forbes-Robertson,  39 

Dreams,  26,  67,  82 

Frank.  49,  51 

Drydcn,  47,  62,  106 

Freedom  of  Will,  45, 

154 

Dublin  Review,  73 

G 

E 

fZai-*v««>»«ar         -^  V           *  Ai^          m  £■ 

^rx 

East  Flanders,  16 

Ego,  91 

Einsame  Menschen,  149 

Eleanora,  62 

Eliot,  28 

Elizabethan  Drama,  158 

Elopment,  166 

Elysian  Fields,  134 

Emerson,  16,  21,  72,167 

Emotion,  27,  38,  150. 

Empiricism,  28 

English  Censor,  18 

English     Novelists,  28 

Enoch  Arden,  64 

Essayist,  17,  170 

Essay  on  Man,  32 

Evans,  51.  54.  78,  79- 81,  89, 
90,  92,  96,  100,  126 

Evolutional  Ethics  and  Ani- 
mal Psy.,  51,  54,  78,  81, 
89,  90,  92,  96,  100,  1 2b 

Evolutionary  Psy.  of  Feeling, 
38,  II,  159 


Fairy  Berylune,  70 
Faith,  153,  154 
Fate,  122,  124 
Father- Love,  114,  150 
Fear,  60,    71,   98,    109,120, 

124,   130,   138,   152 
Figaro,  16 
Filial-Love,  147,  150 


Gesture,  27,  29,  103 
Ghent,  15,  16,  17,  60,  112, 

158 
Ghost  of  Banquo,  26,  63 
Ghosts,  50 
Goethe,  169 
Golaud,  44,  149 
Golden  Rule,  136 
Gratitude,  97 
Graveyard,  79 
Green,  44 

Green  Bird,  86,  119 
Grief,  46 
Guido,  95,  151,  167 

H 

Habbakuk,  80 

Hall,  54,  72,  89,  9C» 

Hamlet,   16,  34.  75,  93,  98 

Hanneles  Himmelfahrt,  68 

Happiness,  84,  153,  164 

Hauptmjinn,  68,  149,  i6g 

Hcbrfws,  153 

Hedley,  73 

Heart- Disease,  140 

Heller,  58 

Hermeneutics,  25 

Hesitate,  40 

Hilda  Lessways,  88,  95 

Hjalmar,  34,  148 

Home,  17,  64,  152  169,  198 

Homer,  28 

Hope,  97 


ii 


246 


Index 


V  I 


li,     ; 


^Vll 


»-*(■■ 


Horror,  130,  131 
Hovey,  7,  32.  H 
Ho'ticulture,  117 
Hudson,   53.  7'.   >>5.    u?- 

127 
Hugo,  69 
Hulette,  227 
Huncker,  64 
Hunger,  76 

Hypnotism,  30,  58.  103 
Hypocrisy,  78 
Hysteria,  102 

I 

Ibsen,  88 

Iconoclasts  64 

Ideal  for  Philosophy,  23 

Idealism,  97,  iCo 

Idealistic  Poet,   16 

Ignorance,   154 

Imitation  of  Horace,  106 

Immortality,  37.  UO 

Impulse,  54 

Infantile  Paralysis,  135 

Influence  of  the  Drama,  27, 

157,  ibb 
Ingersoil  Lectures,  140 
Inhibited  Emotion,  39.  I49 
Insanity,  147 
Inscription  at  Passy,  19 
Instinct,  27,  34.  35.  55.  94. 

96,  103,  126 
Intellectual  Actresses,  27 
Intellectual  Sentiment,  153 
Intelligence  of  the  Flowei-^, 

19 
Intimate  Theatres,  162 
Introduction  to  Metaphysics, 

25 
Intruder,    17,   48,    53.    I53. 

160,  169,  184 
Intuition,  41 
Irving,  30 


James,  28,  35.  50,  67 
James-Lange  Theory,  29,  82 
Jastrow,  67,  74.  I03 
Jealousy,    43,    45.   87,    119. 

164 
Jeanne  d'Arc,  107 
Jesuits,  1 5 
Joy,  58,  109,  154 
Joy  and  Love,  21 
Jowett,  64 
Joyzelle,   18,  21,   113.   150, 

167,  169,  222 

K 

Kalich,  219 

Kant,  58 

Kindergarten,  32 

Kingdom  of  the  Future,  80 

Kingdom  of  Night,  75 

King  Lear,  34 

King  Marcellus,  33.  148 

Kipling,  33 

Kirschmann,  59 

Knowledge,  76,  I54 


Lanceor,  150 

Land  of  Memory,  74 

Language  of  Animals,  78 

Lao-tsze,  66 

La    Princesse    Maleine,    16, 

148,  159,  169.  173 
Lapse  of  Personality,  103 
L'Art  Poetique,  13 
Laughter,  137 
Law  of  Psychic  Phenomena, 

53.  71.  115.  "7.  127 
Le  Blanc,  20,  114 
Les  Miserables,  69 


Index 


247 


Life  of  the  Bee,  16,  19 

Light,  68,  75.  154 

Light  of  Asia,  53 

Lindsay,  27,  67,  84 

Little  Allan,  37 

London  Stage  Society,  163 

Loti,  58 

Love  at  Sight,  41 

Love  of  Mother,  Father,  69, 

88,  114.  154 
Love,  Adolescent,  150 
Lyrical  Drama,  165 

M 

Macbeth,  16,  26,  43,  60 

Mme.  Maeterlinck,  20,  39, 
161 

Maeterlinck,  Birth,  1 5 ; 
Comment  on  Monna 
Vanna,  94 ;  Comme»>t 
on  Joyzelle,  114;  Edu- 
cation, 15 ;  Personal  Ap- 
pearance, 19;  Personal- 
ity shown  in,  iii,  112, 
117 

Mallarme,  Foreword 

Manhattan  Theatre,  219 

Marcellus,  62 

Marionettes,  142,  163,  169, 
201 

Marschalk,  211 

Mary  Magdalene,  19,  89, 
151,  168,  238 

Massenet,  20 

Maternal  Love,  91 

Material,  53,  85,  94 

Matter  and  Memory,  46 

Matthison,  2 1 1 

Maturity,  44 

McDougall,  19,  25,  27,  30, 
45,  46 

Meleander,  87 

Mechanical  Forces,  54 


Mental  Forces,  54 

Meltzer,  21 

Merlin,  113,  150 

Metamorphosis,  54 

Metemphysics,  54 

Miall,  7 

Mind  of  the  Child,  50 

Mirbeau,  17,  32 

Modern  Light  on  Immor- 
tality. 49,  51 

Modem  School,  59 

Modem  Symbolism,  32 

Monatsheftes,  113 

Monna  Vanna,  18,  21,  27, 
93,  151,  168,  219 

Monogamy,  87 

Moral  Shock,  90 

Morbid  Plays,  48 

Morbidness,  116 

Mother-Love,  91,  114,  150 

Motor  Tendencies,  28 

Motion,  54 

Mount  Olympus,  I22 

Mummy  Tyl,  82 

Munich,  113,  163,  201 

Myers,  52 

Mysticism,  64,  124,  131 

Mystics,  50,  153 

N 

Naturalistic  Theatre  Libre, 

18 
Naturalism,  59 
Nature's  Cathedral,  125 
Nazimova,  27 
Necromancy,  62 
Negative  Character,  34,  44 
Negative  Self-feeling,  47,  88 
Nethersole,  239 
New  Testament,  93 
New  Testament    Character, 

19 
New  Theatre,  211,  227,  239 


i 

1! 
I? 


\ 


248 


Index 


\\  \ 


I. 
I" 


^^'''r■^ 


Night,  68 

Night  Thought>,  bi 
Nirvana,  121 
Nobel   Prize,    ihq 
Normal  Death,  i2(> 
Normandy,  1 1 1 

O 

( )bedience,  t>g 

Objective,  29,  u.  71,  124 

Observation,  77,  1^7 

( Kcultist,  21 

Odors,  48 

Omar  Khayyam,  i.;?.  141 

On  the  Art  ot  tht-  Theatr-, 

27,  163 
Opera  Comiquc,  20 
Oriental       1 58 
Orientation.  45 
Orbits,  154 
Osier,  140 


Pain,  120,  121,  135 
Parental  Instinct,  66 
Parable  of  the  Virgins,  62 
Pagan,  14,  57,  80,  90,  131, 

135 
Parental  I^ove,  147 
Parmelee,  34,  35,  39 
Parsi,  95 
Pascal,  32,  92 
Passion,  147,  152 
Past  and  Present,  31 
Pelleas  and   Melisande,   17, 

21,  38,   149,   161,   169, 

188 
Perception,  25,  82 
Personal  Appearance,  19 
Personality,  27,  77,  iii,  117, 

118,    134 
Personification,  72,  77 
Peter  Pan,  18 


Philosophy   of    Bergson,    26, 

67.  «4 
Phobia  of  I)arkne>s,  f)0 
Physical  P'orces,  S4 
Pity,  46,  K'i,  134.  "50 
Plato,  lO.  84 
Pleasure.  70 

Pleasure- Pain,   33,  58,  76 
I'loti  iUs,  ift 
Poe,  167 

Polish  Drama,  31 
Polygamy,  87 
Pope,  32 
Preface,  s 
Preyer,  ^o 
Predestination,  09,  81,   113, 

154 
Prince   Bellidor,    104 
Principles  of  Psychology,  20, 

67 
Princess    Maleme,     16,    32, 

148,  159.  169,  173 
Prinzivalle,  95,  151,  165 
Prologomena  to  Ethics,  44 
Proserpina,  131 
Pseudo-Sallust,  145 
Psychical  Forces,  54 
Psychology    of    Beauty,    32, 

36,  59,  109 
Psychology  of  Emotions,  85. 

90,  102,  103,  117,  150 
Psycho- Physical,   30 
Psychological  Strain,  31 
PufiFer,  32,  36,  59.  109 
Puppets,  113,  142,  169 
Puritan,   19 

Q 

Queene  Anne,  35,  148 
Queen  Mab,  108 

R 

Rage,  47 
Raven,  167 


Index 


249 


Realism,  58,  112,  158,  160, 

162 
Reality,  58 
Reflection,  i  v< 
Reincarnation,   114 
Relijiion,  6b,  95,  1  V<,  1S3 
Religious    Kmotion,   go,   91, 

9b,   103,   1.^2 
Reliction   and    Medicine,   4<, 

b6,  71,  75,  8s.  122 
Rembrandt,  58 
Repentance,  152 
Repertory.  30 
Resentment,  46 
Revenge,  45 
Reverence,  73 
Ribot,   82,   85,   89,   90,   9>. 

102,  103,  117,  150 
Richard  III,  25 
Rimbaud,  15 
Romans,  34 
Rostand,  104 
Rubaiyat,    127,   141 

S 

St.  Barbe,  15 

St.  Cyr,  19 

St.  Peter's  Tomb,  73 

Saleeby,   1 26 

Sapho,  20 

School  of  Anatomy,  58 

Schopenhauer,  148 

Science,    153 

Science  of  Yoga,  21 

Scorn,  91 

Scylla,    159 

Science  of  Human  Behavior, 

35,  39 
Second  Childhood,  49 
Second-sight,  48 
Self-preservation,  138 
Self-regarding  Sentiment,  34, 

46,  47,  88,  103 


Senility,  ^3,  49,  65 
Sentiment    of     Motherhoo ", 

43,  91,   104 
Serrcs  Chaudes,  16 
Seven  Princesses,  17,  48,  57, 

ISO,  160,  169,  18b 
Sexual  Kmotion,  41,  43,  47, 

9b,  97.    120,    149,    15!. 

152 
Sex  Passion,  ^},  38,  95.  14"^. 

149 
Shakespeare,   17,  2b,  34,  42, 

60,  75,  93,  98.  142,  15'i 
Shaw,  5 

Shelley,  75,   108 
Shocks,  3b,  90,  103,  121 
Sin,  72,  "'3 
Silanus,  95 
Sister  Beatrice,    17,  6i,  97. 

152,  164,  168,  211 
Sleep,  82,  134 
Smile,  137 
Sophocles,  28 
Sorrow,  46,  105,  106 
Soul,  49 

Spinoza,  79,  84,  85 
Spiritual,  53 
Spiritualism,  131 
Stanley,  38,  ill,  159 
Stigmata,  102 
Stock  Companies,  30 
Stoics,  85 

Stories  of  the  Dramas,  171 
Stranger,  66 
Studies  in  Modern  German 

Literature,  58 
Sturgis,  27,  157,  166 
Subconscious.  25.  30,  31,  41, 

67,  74.  103.  122,  148 
Subjective   Emotions,   31 
Subjective-Self,  29.  "5,  122 
Sudermafiii,  20 
Suicide,  46,  88 


1  " 


Index 


tn* 


r.n'-'i 


Superstitions,  78,  I53 
Sutro,  7 

Symbolism,  32,  40>  42,  57. 
79,  87,  105,  118,  119, 
120,  123,  124,  127,  134 
Symbolist,  18 
Sympathetic  Pain,  46 
Systemes  des  Philosophes,  32 
System  of  Ethics,  44 

T 
Telepathy,   51,  53.   56.  71. 

115. 153 
Temperament,  19 
Tender  Emotion,  46,  70 
Tender  Passion,  43 
Tennyson,  30,  64,  96 
Terror,  66 
Theatre  Magazine,   16,   19, 

20,  21,  94.  "4.  "5 
Theology,  75 
Thomas,  21 
Thomson,  25 
Thomdike,  78 
Thought,  51.  52 

Thoughts,  92 

Thought  -  Transference,    52, 

53 
To  a  Skylark,  75 
To  J.  S.,  96 

Transition  Period,  114.  i»3 
Transmigration  of  Souls,  54 
Transmutation    of    Species, 

54 
Treasure  of  the  Humble,  17 

Triangle-Plays,  88,  89,  93, 

164 
Triumph  of  Death,  21,  115 

Tyltyl,  73 

Uglyane,  34.  u8 

Umbras,  50 

United  States,  21,  166 


University  of  Toronto  Stud- 

ies   59 
Ursula,' 61,  150 

V 

Vampire,  33 
Vedanta  Philosophy,  21 
Venice  of  the  North,  60 
Verhaeren,  Foreword 
Vengeful  Emotion,  34.  46 

Verus,  91.  152 

Veridical     Apparitions,     51, 

153 
Virgil,  28 
Visualization,  168 
Vital  Force,  54 
Vivisection,  58 

w 


Wages  of  Sin,  33 
Weak  Emotion,  39.  106 
Wenzel,  78 
Wild  Duck,  88 
Will,  44.  94.  106,  113 
Will  to  Believe,  35,  50,  52 
Wisdom  and  Destiny,  17 
Woman  of  the  Seven  Devils. 

89 
Woman's  Intuition,  41 
Women,  Deceitful,  118 
Worcester,  McComb,  Coriat, 
43,  66,  71.  75,  85.  122 
Worry,   126 

Y 
Yajnavalkyad-harma-  Sastra, 

Yeats,  Foreword,  3 
Ygraine,  129 
Yniold,  39 
Young,  61 

Z 

Zoopsychology,  78 


NOTES. 


P. 
P. 


i8, 
19. 


P.     21, 


x6    Line    8-Katherine   Dougl^  in   Theatre   Maga- 
..     .g-Octv'e  Xbe'au'.  -Paris    Figaro.    Au,. 
24,  1890. 
21— Theatre  Magazine,  1903,  P-  9»- 
^-Translation  of  poem  made  by  Dj;«  ^  • 
Cvr  in  A  Visit  to  Maurice  Maeter 
linck     Theatre    Magazine,    January. 

28-WiUil  McDougall.  Social  Psycholosr 
(John  W.  Luce  &  Co.,  Boston.  1912). 

5_-B,^der%e  Rennes.  The  Maeterllncks, 
Theatre  Magazme,  1911.  P-  iJi-   . 

8_M^  Carolyn  Cranford  An  Interv^w 
with  Mme.  Maeterlmck.  Theatre 
Magazine,  March,  J91.2. 
The  Sor'  also  pleads  inde»>ted'«ssj° 
that  admirable  volume  by  Edward 
Thomas.  Maurice  Maeterlinck 
(Dodd.    Mead   &    Co..    New   York, 

Funk  &  Wagnall's  Standard  Encyclo- 

oa^ia  (New  York,  J?i2). 
ChrHenry  Meltzer.  Maeterlmck,  the 
Belgian  Shakespeare,  The  Cosmopoli- 
tan Magazine,  February,  191 3- 
•        —Henri  Bergson's  first  lecture  at  Colum- 
W^     uSversity.      February      I9i3- 
Quoted  from  The  Outlook  Magazine, 
and  The  Literary  Digest. 
..     ,4_William  McDougall.  Social  Psychology. 

..     ,,_W*  H^na  Thomson,  Brdn  and  Person- 
jUy  (Dodd,  Mead  &  Company,  New 
York,  X912),P.  289. 
251 


P.    23, 


P.    25, 


i: 


;f     1 


''    u 


W* 


I  ri 


,f-W 


252 


P.      26, 
P.      27, 


P.      28, 

P.      30, 
P.      32, 


P.  33. 
P.  34. 
P.     35. 


P.     36. 
P.     38, 


Notes 

28-Henri  Bergson  An  I""?^"'^^^" 
Metaphysics,  Trans,  by  1.  E-  ""Imj 
(G.  P.  Putnam's  Sons,  New  York  and 
London,  1912).  P-  25- 

22 — Monna  Vanna. 
2-A.  D.  Lindsay,  The  Philosophy  of  Berg- 
son (J.  M.  Dent  and  Sons,  Ltd.,  Lon- 
don, 191 0.  P-  »9i-      .  ,  „     ,    , , 

18— William  McDougall,  Social  Psychology, 

25-Gr''anville  Forbes  Sturgis,  The  Influence 
of  the  Drama  (Shakespeare  Press. 
New  York  City,  1913).  Discusses 
these  plays  at  length. 
5_William  James,  The  Principles  of  Psy- 
chology    (Henry   Holt   &  Co.,   New 

York,  1890).  ^    .  ,  „     .    ,  ^, 

^-William  McDougall,  Social  Psychology, 

9_Ethel' D.    Puffer,    The    Psychology    of 

Beauty   (Houghton  M.fflm  Company, 

Boston  and  New  York,  1905).  P-  261. 

'     i4_Richard  Hovey,  Essay  on  Modern  Sym 

holism.  ,,        ir  •  *i- 

'     24— Alexander  Pope,  Essay  on  Man,  Epistle 

ii,  Line  i.  t  u       r'u   . 

"     28— Charron,  De  la  Sagesses,  Lib.  1,  L.h.  i. 
"       4_Pascal,  Systemes,  des  Philosophes,  xxv. 

"       9 — Romans  6,  23.  ^,     „  .  c  o,, 

"     liZMaurice  Parmelee   The  Science  of  Hu- 
man Behavior  (The  MacMiUan  Com- 
pany, New  York,  1913).  P-  396. 
"     ,7_Maurice  Parmelle,  The  Science  of  Hu- 
man Behavior,  pp.  226  and  201. 
Poem-William   James,  The  WiU   to^  Behev^ 
(Longmans,    Green    and    Co.,    New 
York,  London,  191 0,  P-  i^-  , 

"     3i_Ethel    D.    Puffer,   The    Psychology    of 

Beauty,  p.  162.  ^    ,    . 

"  iQ  &  2i-Hiram  M.  Stanley,  Evolutionary 
Psychology  of  Feeling  (Swan  Son- 
nenschein  &  Co.,  London,  1895).  P- 
324. 


Notes 


153 


P. 
P. 


39. 


43 


P.     44. 
P.     45. 

P.     46. 


P. 
P. 


P.     50. 
P.     51. 


P. 
P. 


20-Maurice  Parmelcc.  The  Science  of  Hu- 
man  Behavior,  p.  302.  u«i«m<if« 

,8-Ge^eral  statement  arnong  Psy^holof  t  ' 
3  &  5._Shakespeare.  Macbeth,  Act  5,  S>c.  i. 

^     ^d  Medicine  (Moffat,  Yard  and  Co., 
New  York,  I908).  P-  379. 
o     T    H    Hreen   Prologomena  to  Ltnics. 
3^;^J-3"-FS";ick  Pfulsen,  A  S,st«n  of 

,^wll!S  Mcl^ean,  Social  Phychology, 
.       .-H^nri'serpo".  Matter  and   Mm-ory, 
.    2<v-Wiliam'McDou8all,  Social  Psychology, 
.     „_Wiililm'McDougall,  Social  Psychology, 
Verse-John 'Drydeo.  Ahsalom  and  Achitophcl, 

---"StHrrp's^-- 

Boston,  1909).  p.  429;  ,. 

23_William  James,  The  Will  to  Believe,  p. 

W^°p;ever  Mind  of  the  Child.    Quoted 
'-"^irrrAen^  Frank's  Modem  Light  on 

Immortality,  P-  3J9  , 

9-_Henry   Frank,   Modern   Light   on    Im 

,,    E  TfvS;;  Evolutional  Ethics  and  ^i- 
'*mal  Psychology  (D.  Appleton  &  Co.. 
New  York,  1898)  P.^94. 
3_Myers,    quoted    from    Will  «n    James, 
The  Will  to  Behcve,  p.  310. 
.       6-See  ^omson  J.  Hudson,  The  ^^^ 

Psychic  Phenomena  (A.  C.  ^^^^^. 
&Co.!chicago,i9i2).  in  support  of 

the  theories  advanced.  ,  .  •- 

Poem-Sir  Edwin  Arnold.  The  Light  of  Asia. 


47. 


52, 
53. 


i54 


Notes 


\i  I 


« 
1'  • 


a 
J  I 


.^i 


m 


54,  Line  28 — E.  P.  Evans,  Evolutional  Ethics,  etc.,  p. 

132. 
G.  Stanley  Hall,  Adolescence  (D.  Ap- 
pleton  &  Co.,  New  York  and  London, 
1911),  Vol.  2,  p.  161,  M.  24  of  notes. 
56,  "  14 — Henri  Bergson,  Creative  Evolution,  p. 
210. 

58,  "  20— Otto  ''.eller.  Studies  in  Modem  Ger- 
es    literature,  p.  288. 

59,  "  16 — University  of  Toronto  Studies,  Psy. 
Series,  No.  4,  p.  20,  quoted  from  Ethel 
D.  Puffer,  Psy.  of  Beauty,  p.  100. 

60,  "     22 — Shakespeare,  Macbeth,  Act  3,  Sc.  4. 

61,  Verse — Young,  Night  Thoughts,  v.  661. 

62,  Verse — ^John  Dryden,  Eleanora,  Line  315. 

63,  Line  — Maurice  Maeterlinck,  Sister  Beatrice, 
quoted  from  Prayer  of  Act  i. 

64,  "  13 — James  Huneker,  Iconoclasts,  a  Book  of 
Dramatists,  quoted  p.  380. 

66,  "  21 — ^Worcester,  McCmnb,  Coriat,  Religion 
and  Medicine,  p.  384. 

67,  "     24 — ^Joseph      Jastrov ,      The      Subconscious 

(Houghton  MiiHin  Co.,  Boston  and 
New     York,     1906),     references     to 
Dreams,  also  William  James,  Princi- 
ples of  Psychology. 
"     28— A.  D.  Lindsay,  The  Philosophy  of  Berg- 
son, p.  183. 
P.     71,      "     16 — ^Worcester,   McComb,   Coriat,   Religion 
and  Medicii.e,  p.  43. 
"     26 — Thomson  J.  Hudson,  The  Law  of  Psy- 
chic Phenomena,  p.  108. 

72,  "  17  &  22 — G.  Stanley  Hall,  Adolescence, 
Vol.  2,  p.  206. 

73,  "  10 — Rt.  Rev.  John  Cuthbert  Hedley,  Dublin 
Review,  Oct.,  1887,  p.  418. 

74,  "  3 — See  Joseph  Jastrow,  The  Subconcious, 
Note  on  pp.  218-219. 

75,  "  1 — ^Worcester,  McComb,  Coriat,  Religion 
and  Medicine,  p.  32. 

"       6 — Shakespeare,  Hamlet,  Act  3,  Sc.  1. 
"     30— Worcester,   McComb,   Coriat,   Religion 
and  Medidne,  p.  a68. 


P. 
P. 
P. 

P. 
P. 
P. 
P. 

P. 

P. 

P. 


P. 
P. 
P. 
P. 


Notes 


^SS 


p^     yg^      "      J E.   P.   Evans,   Evolutional  Ethics,  etc, 

P-  354. 
"     13— E.  P.  Evans,  Evolutional  Ethic,  etc.  p. 

3«9- 
"     28 — E:  P.  Evans,  Evolutional  Ethics,  etc,  p. 

96. 
Also,  Edward  L.  Thomdike,  Animal  In- 
telligence (The  MacMillan  Co.,  New 
York,  191 1 ). 
"     30 — E.  P.  Evans,  Evolutional  Ethic,  etc,  p. 
182. 
p^     yg^      "     13 — E.  P.  Evans,  Evolutional  Ethic,  etc.,  p. 

219. 
p^     go.      "     ig — Old    Testament,    Habakkuk,    Chap.    2, 

v.  2 
p     g,^      "       g — E.  P.  Evans,  Evolutional  Ethics,  etc.,  p. 

169. 
"     16 — E.  P.  Evans,  Evolutional  Ethics,  etc.,  p. 

168. 
p      g2       "     J  6 — Theodore  Ribot,  Diseases  of  the  Person- 
ality, trans,  by  P.  W.  Shedd  (Boerickc 

&  Tafel,  Philadelphia,  1909),  P-  102. 
p      g.^      "       7_Plato,  Epistles,  vii,  341.  344-     Quoted 

from  A.  J.  Lindsay,  The  Philosophy 

of  Bcrgson,  p.  239. 
p     ge,      "       9  &  17— Theodore  Ribot,  The  Psychology 

of  the  Emotions  (Walter  Scott  Pub. 

Co.,  Ltd.,  London,i9i2),  p.  379-.  . 
"     28— Worcester,    McComb,   Coriat,    Religion 

and  Medicine,  p.  15. 
p     gg^      "       5 — ^Arnold     Bennett,     Hilda    Lessways,    a 

Novel    (E.   P.   Dutton  &  Co.,   New 

York,  191 1 )  P-  355. 
p     gg^      '•      5 — E.  P.  Evans,  Evolutional  Ethics,  etc.,  p. 

56. 
p     go^      "       I— Theodore  Ribot,  The  Psy.  of  the  Emo- 
tions, p.  412. 
G.  Stanley  Hall,  Adolescence,  Vol.  i, 

p.  342- 
"     33 — E.    P.    Evans,    Evolutional    Ethics,   etc., 

p.  20. 
p     gi^      "     33_Ribot-Shedd,  Diseases  of  the  Personality, 

p.  51. 


I     • 


m 


256 

p.  92, 

p.  93, 

P.  94. 

P.  95, 

P.  96, 

P.  98. 


P. 

100, 

p. 

102, 

p. 

«03, 

p. 

104, 

p. 

106, 

p. 

108. 

p. 

109, 

p. 

III, 

p. 

113, 

p. 

114, 

p. 

U5, 

Notes 

"     15 — E.  p.  Evans,  Evolutional  Ethics,  etc.,  p. 

125. 
"     18— Pascal,  Thoughts. 
Verse — Shakespeare,  Hamlet,  Act  i,  Sc.  3. 
Line  23 — Interview    in    The    Theatre    Magazine, 
January,  1906. 
"     15 — Arnold  Bennett,  Hilda  Lessways,  p.  357. 
"     30 — Yajnavalkyad-harma-Sastra,    i,    v.    348- 
350. 
5 — E.  P.  Evans,  Evolutional  Ethics,  etc.,  p. 
132. 
"     23 — E.    P.    Evans,    Evolutional    Ethics,   etc., 

p.  9- 
Verse — Alfred  Tennyson,  To  J.  S. 
Line     7 — Darwin,  The  Descent  of  Man  (London, 

1874),  p.   95. 
V^erse — Shakespeare,  Hamlet,  Act  I,  Sc.  i. 
Line  21 — E.    P.    Evans,    Evolutional    Ethics,   etc., 

p.  355- 
"     27 — Theodore  Ribot,  Psy.  of  the  Emotions, 

P-  324. 
"     15 — Joseph  Jastrow,   The   Subconscious,   pp. 

374-375. 
"     2i — Theodore  Ribot,   Psy.  of  the  Emotions, 

p.  325. 
\erse — Edmond   Rostand,  Cyrano  de  Bergerac, 
Act  5. 
"     — John  Dryden,  Imitation  of  Horace,  Book 

III,  Ode  29,  1.71. 
"     — Percy  Bysshe  Shelley,  Queen  Mab,  iii. 
Line       — Ethel    D.    Puffer,    The    Psychology    of 
Beauty,  p.   lb. 
"       9 — Hiram  M.  Stanley,  Evolutionary  Psy.  of 
Feeling,  p.  328. 
6— Vellhagen   &   Klasings   "Monatshcftes," 
Berlin,     Dec,     1912,     article,     "Des 
Marionetten     -     Theatre,     Miinchen 
Kunstler,"  by  Willn  Rath. 
"     29,  30 — Interview    in    The   Theatre    Maga 

zine,   Jan.,    1896. 
"       4 — Interview    in    The    Theatre    Magazine, 
Jan.,  1896. 


Notes 


257 


P. 
p. 

126, 

127, 

p. 
p. 

141. 
145, 

p. 

149, 

p. 

150, 

p. 

153, 

p. 

157. 

p. 

159. 

p. 

163, 

12 — Thomson  J.  Hudson,  The  Law  of  Psy- 
chic Phenomena,  pp.  108  &  99- 
P.  117,      "     17 — Theodore  Ribot,  Psy.  of  the  Emotions,  p 
244,  et  seq. 
21 — Thomson  J.  Hudson,  The  Law  of  Psy 
chic  Phenomena,  p.  134. 
P.   122,      "     22 — Worcester     McComb,  Coriat,   Religion 
and  Medicine,  p.  20. 
33 — E.  P.  Evans,  Evolutional  Ethics,  etc.,  p. 

121. 
16  &  28— Salecby,  Worry,  pp.  250-251. 
28 — See  Thomson  J.  Hudson,  Law  of  Psychic 
Phenomena. 
Verse — Omar  Khayyam,  Rubaiyat. 
"     — Omar  Khayyam,  Rubaiyat. 
"     — Pseudo-Sail ust,    Epist.    de    Rep    Ordin. 
ii,  I. 
Line     8 — Herhart    Hauptmann's    Play,    Einsame 
Menschen. 
8 — Theodore  Ribot,  Psychology  of  the  Emo 
tions. 
"      16 — Hebrews  xii,  i. 
"     26 — Henri  Bergson. 
"       3 — Granville  Forbes  Sturgis,  The  Influence 

of  the  Drama. 
"      13 — Hiram  ^L  Stanley,  Evolutionary  Psy.  of 

Feeling,  p.  307. 
"  15 — Edward  Gordon  Craig,  On  the  Art  of 
the  Theatre,  (Browne's  Bookstore, 
1911)  Essay  on  The  Actor  and  the 
Uber-Marionette,  p.  54. 
P.  166,  "  10 — Granville  P'orbes  Sturgis,  1  iie  Influenre 
of  the  Drama. 


m 


